Dark Games & Twisted Minds
by katinki
Summary: COMPLETE. 2010 Indie Award Winner. A decades-long feud between two powerful vampires. A contest. A deadly game of cat and mouse. A woman's fate rests in his hands... but he can save her only if he manages not to kill her himself first. AU.
1. Bloodlust

**Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. I do not, but I like playing around with her characters.  
**

Thank you xInfinity to Scooterstale (beta), Legna989 (pre-reader), and BilliCullen (pre-reader)

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**Dark Games & Twisted Minds**

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_**March 13, 2009**_**_  
__1:52 am_  
_Somewhere in the Catskills, New York State_**

He could feel his prey. He could taste the sweet blood in the air, feel it scouring his throat as he stalked silently through the trees, concealed in the darkness of the undergrowth.

Stealth was unnecessary; it was more of a habit, a game he played. There would be no escaping this hunter. His prey was a poor match, weak and infantile. But it would do, at least for now. The hunter had gone too long without satiating his thirst, and his irises were small, hard rocks of black coal. A low, feral growl rumbled in his chest as the scent pulled him through the trees to the small clearing.

He paused at the edge of the space to assess his surroundings. Long used as a campsite for the most dedicated hikers and climbers, the small, flat breach offered a degree of protection from the howling winds of the east side of the mountain face. A nearby stream gurgled through broken and melting winter ice, rattling in his ears.

The fire had burned down long ago; only the reddened remnants of the hardwood logs remained, and a thin tendril of smoke rose, twirling and whipping in the wind. The acrid odor of the burned cellulose tainted the sweetness that drew him to this place. The hunter shifted position upwind, and allowed the delicious blood-scent to guide him.

His eyes drifted to the small, one-man tent. His senses were assaulted by the prey within. It was sleeping; its heart rate, slow and heavy, was thundering in his ears. Its smell was maddening, musky, and salty. Venom pooled in the hunter's mouth, coating his razor sharp teeth.

In a low crouch, the hunter padded over to the tent, and silently pulled the flap back. Despite the blackness of the night, the hunter's eyes took in everything. The prey was of medium size, dirty from its days in the wilderness. Its leg was settled outside of the old, ragged sleeping bag, and wrapped in a blood-tinged bandage. _No wonder_, thought the hunter as he realized how he'd been drawn to such inferior food. With no other option, it would suffice. It would hold him over until he returned to civilization, until he could be more selective.

The hunter stood over his prey, debating on whether to take him in his sleep or to wake him for sport. Deciding that the prey was sickly and would provide no challenge, he lowered himself to the ground. His eyes trained to the familiar point just below the jaw, noting the transparency of the flesh over the pulsing artery beneath.

In one swift motion, the hunter grasped the prey's shoulders, and jerked him up. The hunter saw the man's eyes open in terror as a thin, wheezy yelp left his mouth. Before the prey could lift his arms in defense, the hunter plunged his teeth into the flesh, feeling the spurting of blood as it coated the inside of his mouth.

The prey thrashed wildly, flailing his arms, attempting in vain to remove the iron-like grip of the hunter. The hunter took his time, savoring each pump of the thirst-quenching liquid, allowing the prey's heart to push the fluid through the small tears in the skin. As the blood drained from the prey, its movements slowed, until eventually its palms lightly settled on the hunter's arms, and it whimpered. When its heart became too weak to pump, the hunter finished the prey off in long, strong pulls, draining it completely.

Temporarily satisfied, the hunter stood, leaving the man's carcass spread across the small tent floor. He turned on his heel, and sprinted from the campsite.

The wind whipped through his hair, and he felt the tingling sensation of mist droplets as they smacked against his bare chest. Where he passed, there was silence but for the soft sounds of his feet touching the forest floor as the lesser creatures could sense the danger moving through their world.

As he ran through the thick brush, he felt the strength returning to his limbs, and felt his muscles stretch as his long strides propelled him toward civilization. _Satisfied, but not full_. He would need to hunt again, soon.

* * *

**_March 14, 2009_****_  
_****8:37 pm**  
**Binghamton, New York State**

The hunter had been fortunate. As he had approached the town earlier in the day, the sky had been covered in ominous gray clouds, effectively blocking the sun, and allowing the hunter to walk unhindered through the streets. He had efficiently made his way to a low rent hotel where he could change his soiled clothing, and wash the forest debris from his hair. He needed to look presentable for tonight's fun.

This evening's hunting would be a far cry from last night's meager sustenance. Tonight would be for pleasure, for the thrill of the chase.

He strode out of the decrepit building, not bothering to inform the proprietor of his departure. Mid-way through the door, he heard a scratchy voice call out, "Hey, hey you there! Where the hell do you think you are going? You owe me thirty-five dollars. I'll call the cops on you. You watch me."

Rolling his eyes at the offensive noise, he turned, baring his teeth and snarling. His now crimson eyes, bright from fresh blood, glowed unnaturally.

The old man's hand froze on the telephone handle, and his body shook in fear. His voice quivered as he said, "Now, now mister, I don't want any trouble. Tell you what, you just, you just go on now. We'll forget this ever happened."

"Yes, I _will_ forget this ever happened," the hunter replied in a deep bass. "You will, as well."

The hunter slowly stalked toward the old man, angered by the delay to his recreation. This old fool was not worth the effort. He was too easy, and his blood smelled sour with age and medication. The hunter would not take this man's blood; it was unworthy, and he was not desperate as he had been the night before. Instead, his hand shot out rapidly enough that the old man did not even see the movement. His fingers gripped the man's fragile neck, and tensed, immediately snapping the bones beneath the skin.

Tossing the body to the side, he left the building, not sparing a glance.

As he exited, he scanned the street to his left and to his right, taking in the sounds. Two blocks away, he could hear the laughing and screaming of children playing at a nearby playground. Too easy, and their size required that he take two or three.

To the right, he tuned his ears to the ruckus noise from a sublevel barroom. _Ah,_ he thought, _there would be worthy victims in there_. He imagined there to be large, burly men, the angry type, who would undoubtedly weigh the hunter's size, and attempt to fight. Such men were arrogant, and were amusing to play with.

But no, the hunter wanted a chase tonight, not a fight. _A woman_.

He slowly paced the streets as the last evidence of daylight waned. Camouflaged in the unnecessary thick coat and hat he'd taken from an unsuspecting passerby, he blended with ease. There was too little light for anyone to notice the fiery red of his eyes, nor the chalky white complexion of his face. No one he passed looked at him with a second glance.

He followed scents of cheap perfume to a darkening street three blocks to the south. There, he saw them. Two women, one seemingly intoxicated, and the other attempting to shoulder her drunken companion's weight, were stumbling toward a dated blue four-door. The sober one was his mark.

She was delectable; her skin was the pale brown of a mixed race, and the smell of coconuts wafted toward him. Aided by the scant clothing she wore, the hunter could see that she had an athlete's build, suitable for running. Her strong, steady heartbeat reverberated through the hunter, rapidly drawing him closer to her. The hunter's tongue darted out from between his lips to taste the air. _Ah, yes, she will be fine sport,_ he thought.

Knowing that his kind was always alluring to their intended prey, he slowed his walk to an inconspicuous, human speed, and called, "Hey there. Do you need some help with your friend?" The hunter was skilled at feigning; she would assume him to be nothing more than an attractive male offering his assistance. She would smile at him, and take him up on his offer.

The woman's head shot up in surprise, but within a moment, her eyes gave away her assessment. _Yes, my lovely, you see me. You will be mine_, he thought darkly.

"Oh, um, I didn't see you there," she breathed as she looked up at him from beneath her long, black lashes. The hunter heard her breathing hitch as he stared down at her and smiled.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to scare you. You just looked like you could use a hand. Rough day?" the hunter asked casually, pointing at the drunken woman.

She laughed nervously, and replied, "Oh, that's just Leann. She lost her job, so I offered to help her forget the world for a little while. I'm Cynthia, by the way."

The hunter took her proffered hand, and brought it to his lips as his murmured seductively, "I'm very pleased to meet you, Cynthia. My name is James." He held her hand to his lips an extra, inappropriate second as his tongue slipped out, and lightly traced the skin over her knuckles, tasting her.

The woman's eyes lidded with desire, and the hunter could hear the staccato of her racing heart. _There it is_, he noted. "Cynthia, come with me, my dear. Let us drop your friend off by the bar around the corner. My friend owns the place, and he will be more than happy to let her sober up there, out of this cold wind. Meanwhile, perhaps, we could get to know one another?" he asked in a low, suggestive tone.

The woman nodded dumbly, and followed the hunter, who had taken her companion by the waist in support. The street was now dark and empty, with the only sounds coming from the nearby railroad tracks.

As they rounded the corner into a blackened alley, the woman's eyes widened in realization. There was no street there, and there was no bar. The hunter witnessed her sudden distress, and crooned reassuringly, "Cynthia, do not fret, the bar is just down there," pointing to a burgundy painted door in the corner of the alley that the woman's human eyesight could only barely make out.

"Um, I don't know James. Maybe I should be getting Leann home now," she stuttered.

The hunter turned to her, and clutched her shoulders, pushing the drunken, passed-out woman to the ground. "No, dearest Cynthia, I cannot allow that."

The woman began to squirm against his grip, and her mouth opened as if to scream. The hunter clamped his hand across her lips, and leaned into her, inhaling deeply, "Cynthia, you smell delicious. I'm going to enjoy drinking you."

Horror filled the woman's eyes as she moaned against his palm. "Now, Cynthia, we can do this one of two ways. I can give you a sporting chance, or I can kill you now. Your choice. When I lift my hand from your mouth, I want you to calmly tell me your answer. If you scream, then I will have no alternative but to kill you. Do you understand?"

The woman nodded slowly as mascara-stained tears streamed down her face.

Loosening his grip, the hunter raised his hand, and said, "Which choice do you prefer?" He saw her eyes, and he knew that she would run, would provide him sport.

In a hoarse whisper, "Please, ple-"

"Cynthia. Do you remember what I asked? There will be no begging," he snapped sharply.

"I, I want to live," she cried.

The hunter smiled widely, showing her his slick, venom-coated teeth. "Excellent. I was so hoping that you would make the wise choice. The rules are very simple. You run, and I will chase you. But, the moment you scream, I will end the chase, and kill you in the most painful of ways. If you run, and keep silent like a good little girl, I will kill you swiftly when I find you. Do you understand me?"

The woman's face blanched to a sickening greenish-white as her forehead broke into a cold sweat.

"Cynthia?" the hunter asked.

"Ye-, yes."

"Yes, what?" he pushed.

More blackened tears streaked down to her chin, and she shook as she breathed, "Ye-, yes, I understand."

Grinning, the hunter released his hold on her arms, and laughed. "Then, go!"

Wide-eyed in shock, the woman froze. The hunter sighed exasperatedly, and repeated, "Cynthia, go. Run, now."

Stumbling in her haste, she darted down the dark alley toward the only streetlight in sight. Her high heels encumbered her, but the hunter noticed that she was quite fast, _for a human_.

Wanting to draw the chase out as long as possible, the hunter rolled back on his heels, and waited for exactly three minutes before casually walking toward the direction that the woman had run. He inhaled her scent, cloying coconut essence mixed thickly with adrenaline. It was intoxicating.

He listened carefully for signs of her running, as well as for screams. He hoped that she would not scream. That would end his fun too quickly. The hunter delighted in the chase itself, almost as much as the hot, heady blood that would soon be flowing down his throat.

Too soon, the hunter caught her trail. The woman was weakening, slowing. She had shed her high heels, and was now running barefoot. The hunter smelled the fresh blood that stained the sharp pebbles of the graveled path into the park. He smiled widely. In her terror, she had attempted to take the direct route across the park to the police station. He chuckled at her bravery.

Within seconds, the hunter reached the woman. Her head whipped around as she heard his dark laugh, and then fell to the ground when she turned back around to continue her escape. Her limbs flapped uselessly as she crawled across the half-frozen grass away from him, whimpering and pleading with him to spare her. She finally uttered a single, loud scream.

But the call of her fresh-spilled blood was too much for the hunter to remember the rules he'd dictated. His eyes were already glazed over in wild blood-lust, and everything but the pulsing of her heart was lost to his ears.

He crossed the space between them in one stride, and pulled her up to him. His teeth sank into her neck, slicing open her flesh, allowing her blood to flow freely into his mouth and down his throat. Unable to contain the primal need to quench the fire in his throat, he sucked her dry in moments, forgetting his intentions to savor her taste.

As the last drops of her blood passed over his lips, the hunter cursed himself for his lack of control. He also cursed the pathetic efforts of his human prey. They were too easy, too weak. Even the strong ones were wasted efforts. They were food, and little more.

_I need new toys_, the hunter thought. And he knew which toys he wanted to play with. His lips formed a wicked sneer as he recalled the date. _It is nearly that time again; nearly two decades have passed. It is time to play with my favorite toy—Edward Cullen._

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**A/N:_  
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**Fair Warning: **This fic is rated M for more than sexual content. It's a darker fic and it will be fairly graphic in terms of violence. **People will die.**

**Note:** This is AU, meaning that some things will not be canon in terms of character background and such. For example, there are no wolves in this fic.

**Note 2:** When I initially posted this fic, I used to have little Q&As with folks reading. I've recently removed most of the author notes in this fic, including those Qs, for ease of reading. So if you're one to peruse reviews and stumble across comments that seem off topic, that's likely the reason why.

Finally, I always, always love hearing from you. So as you're reading, please drop me a line or two!


	2. Delivery

**_March 17, 2009  
3:22 pm  
Highway 101 / 20 Junction, Discovery Bay, Washington State_**

An expensive charcoal-gray sports coupe careened around the bend at ninety miles per hour, veering no more than a hair's width from the centerline. Windows down, despite the winter chill, the driver's bronze hair whipped wildly in the wind as he deftly maneuvered the vehicle through the turns. To any observer along the route, the speeding car would be nothing more than a reckless, streaking blur.

The driver wore a broad grin as he rapidly accelerated through a particularly tight curve, singing along to the melody of the loud, wailing blues guitar projecting from the high-end stereo. The driver lived for these moments, for the feel of the icy wind against his face, for unadulterated speed. As far as the driver was concerned, there were few experiences that could equal this.

Never bothering with mirrors, the driver weaved through the other slower vehicles on the road with small flicks of his wrist, earning more than a few honks and extended hand signals. He laughed at the notion that he was out of control, or dangerous to the other vehicles sharing the road. No one could match his prowess behind the wheel, no one possessed his heightened senses or awareness, and with his unusual ability to pick out the thoughts from the minds of those around him, no one could surprise him.

A subtle vibration in his pocket seized his attention. Reluctantly lowering the volume of the driving guitar riffs, he pulled the phone to his ear. Without formal greeting, he asked in an irritated tone, "Yes?"

"Really, Edward, how _can_ you listen to that?" a sprightly soprano queried.

Rolling his golden eyes in annoyance, he demanded, "Alice. What is it that you need? Surely, you didn't call me just to insult my taste in music." Phone in one hand, the driver nimbly changed gears through yet another sharp bend with the other, leaving the wheel unattended but for a fraction of a second. With his inhuman quickness and the superior engineering of the automobile, the wheels never moved from their path.

"When will you be home?" the soprano asked.

"Why do you even bother asking people these questions? I told you this morning when I would be home. What do you really want?" he pressed. Clearly, she did not call for small talk.

"Ok, fine, Edward. Be rude. We're planning a hunting trip up into British Columbia, near Tweedsmuir. Carlisle hears that they are having bear problems."

"And this discussion couldn't wait until I returned?" the driver inquired. His earlier frustration, however, had dissipated at the mention of bears. The family had not hunted larger game in several weeks; the driver was bored with the taste of the gentler mammals near their home. While bears were no contest, and certainly no danger, the blood of the large carnivore was a vast improvement over their typical diet of local deer. Additionally, he was often amused by the games his brothers played with their food. It would be pleasant to get away from civilization for a few days.

"Fine, Edward. I'm bored. Rose is in one of her moods. Emmett and Jasper are out somewhere, probably making mischief. And, of course, Carlisle is still at the hospital; he is pulling a double shift so that Dr. Gerandy could take the day off."

The driver shook his head warily, and sighed, "Alice, you are such a child. Can you not entertain yourself for more than a few hours? I'll be home in no more than an hour and a half. But then, you knew that already. I'll talk to you when I get there." As he hung up the phone, the driver cranked the stereo volume up well past a comfortable level for human ears, and returned to his speed-induced reverie.

* * *

_**March 18, 2009  
7:01 am  
Just outside of Tweedsmuir Provincial Park, British Columbia**_

The family had left their all-terrain vehicles, large SUVs with oversized, knobby tires and specialized suspension packages, thirty miles to the south. The area in the park where they intended to hunt was far too rugged, and had no inroads, rendering the vehicles useless. It was a safe place for them to lose themselves, to give themselves over to the hunt; there would be no humans there to tempt them as they fed.

They left their expensive camping and hiking gear behind with the vehicles. It was just as well since they were nothing more than props in the case that the family was questioned crossing the border. As one of few families such as theirs, they commonly maintained semi-permanent residences, and props were often necessary in order to maintain their charade. Much in the way of Esme's biweekly excursions to the markets for human food, their camping gear had become a family joke. Their purchases alone generated a month's worth of business for the local sporting goods shop. It was a shame and a waste that the equipment they acquired was never used. The food, at least, was donated to a homeless shelter in a neighboring county.

They ran through the thick, coniferous forest, allowing their primal needs to take over completely. Within moments, the largest brother, Emmett, caught the semi-sweet scent of a large grizzly, just waking from hibernation. With animalistic rage, he growled ferociously, and then threw himself at the hulking beast. The animal was more than three times his mass, and stood nearly eight feet in height.

Edward paused, watched, and was vaguely entertained by the delight his brother experienced when the animal roared and swatted its angry paw at him. He had never understood his brothers' enjoyment in taunting their food, and he thought to himself, _Why bother? Just let the animal die in peace. _But, he had to admit that watching his brothers snarl and pounce, and then come away from the skirmish covered in blood and leaves, was certainly a humorous distraction.

This hunt was unnecessary; the family had hunted in the woods near their home only last weekend, and each member's eyes remained honeyed amber. By satiating their thirst now, however, they could avoid settling for lesser food in the following weeks. For Edward, the trip had an added benefit. While his unique gift of hearing minds was infinitely valuable, it often tormented him. In crowded spaces, the cacophony of voices could be overwhelming. In the wilderness, his mind was silent, with the exceptions of his own family members. It was refreshing and relaxing to hear so little for albeit a temporary span. Edward suspected that this, coupled with his ever-brooding moods, had something to do with the family's decision to make this trip.

_Are you not thirsty, Edward?_ Carlisle, his creator and his fatherly figure, called silently.

"No, not really. I'm just thinking," he returned.

Carlisle's brows raised in question, _Anything to be concerned over?_

Despite their years of living together harmoniously as a family, none ever forgot the few periods where Edward had vanished without explanation. The last time had been almost twenty years ago, but the family still often struggled with the memories of Edward's physical and mental condition when he had returned to them several weeks after he had departed.

Edward chuckled mirthlessly, "No, nothing at all." He'd heard where Carlisle's questions were headed, and smiled at his creator's kindness and concern. _No man could best Carlisle in his compassion_, he thought. Never had Carlisle pried; instead, he'd only concentrated on helping Edward heal.

"Shall we?" Carlisle asked, motioning towards the southern line of the forest.

In response, Edward settled into a low hunting crouch, and pushed his more humanly thoughts away. Within moments, his keen sense of smell led him to a rough outcropping of weather beaten boulders. _Ah, mountain lion_, he thought as he tracked his prey. He quickly located the animal, a long, lean female, guarding her newborn cubs. Her scent was raw and tangy, the finest local alternative to human blood. While it never completely satiated him, nor did it ever fully quench the clawing in his throat, it was a better choice than the bear. The fat of the bear diluted the blood's potency.

His brothers willingly sacrificed taste for the size and strength of the bear. Edward, however, viewed the lion's agility and stealth as added benefits to the superior flavor. He had once noted that their dining preferences seemed indicative. Where his brothers were examples in brute force, he was lithe and quick. Where they came away bloodied and disheveled, Edward remained spotless and neat. His tidiness was such that he never thought twice of the starched, white oxfords he often wore.

Edward leaped to the nearest ledge, one just opposite of the lioness. The strength in his muscles effortlessly propelled him the twenty-five feet to the rock shelf. As he landed, the cat started, and shrieked her warnings.

The cat's tawny, black-tipped coat bristled as she took wide swipes with her large paw, attempting to knock her attacker to the ground and away from her cubs. Edward skillfully dodged her efforts. Wasting no time, he launched himself gracefully across the gap. His sharp teeth unerringly found purchase at the animal's throat, slicing easily through the thick flesh and sinew. Her strong heart muscle pulsed the piquant fluid across his lips as she snarled and clawed futilely in Edward's iron grip.

Within seconds, he had drained the animal. He looked over to the small, dark opening in the rock face, and felt a moment of guilt. The lioness' cubs would inevitably die before summer in the absence of their mother. _But such is the way of the world_, Edward thought. _Kill or be killed. Predator or prey. _

After taking down another cat, a large and vicious male, thirst sated, Edward followed the scents of his family members to their designated meeting location. As usual, he was the first to arrive as he was the most efficient and deadly predator in the family. Edward had always been the fastest, the most lethal.

Emmett was the largest, a beast of a man when he had been human. His strength as a vampire was unparalleled, but he was juvenile in his motions, despite his three-quarters of a century of immortality. He always went for the straightforward kill, the easy kill. Besting him in their mock fights was always a quick affair.

Jasper was second to Edward in speed. He also carried experience with him; over a century and a half ago, Jasper had been the equivalent of a battle general in his vampire coven. His mind was agile and cunning. He lacked, however, Edward's ability to read the thoughts of his opponents, and despite his extensive training, on occasion he still succumbed to the lure of the fast kill. Their play matches were always interesting to say the least.

Edward's sisters, Alice and Rosalie, were not trained as fighters. Alice, Jasper's mate, a vampire with unique gifts of her own, possessed the grace of a dancer. Her flitting movements and diminutive stature were misleading. Her special gift, the ability to see events in the immediate future, allowed her to see an attacker's intentions moments before the strike. Yet, her mind was not that of an aggressor. Rosalie had been a kept woman in her human life; luscious and beautiful, she had never lifted a finger or wanted for anything as her suitors pampered and showered her with their gifts and affections. When she was changed, she saw no need to alter her status. With Emmett as her mate, she had no need to be educated in such things.

Carlisle, Edward's creator, created nearly four hundred years ago, was peace loving, a startling deviation in vampire consciousness, and he hesitated in killing even their carnivorous animal prey. Carlisle's mate, Esme, was nearly as strict in her views on the taking of life.

Edward had tried numerous times to understand Carlisle's and Esme's way of thinking. He could, to a point. Edward understood the abhorrence of taking human life. Edward, himself, at one point in his existence, had killed many humans, both innocent and evil. For several decades after his creation, Edward had lived apart from Carlisle and Esme, rebelling against their passive lifestyle, instead, living with other _traditional _vampires. His eyes had glowed red, and he had felt the addictive strength that only human blood could provide.

He'd eventually returned to his family after tiring of a life solely focused on blood and murder. As time passed, he slowly began to appreciate, and even to share many of his creator's views. He came to accept animal blood as the poor substitute it was. Since his return, he'd been away from his family for only necessary, brief periods.

_Human blood_. It had been many years since Edward had tasted its nectarous savor, the only fluid that promised to extinguish the flames that perpetually burned in his throat. He could recall the tingling sensations of it sliding along his tongue, boiling and thick. He could smell its perfect scent, that human essence, different for each individual, but still commonly defined by otherworldly velvety sweetness. He recalled flawlessly the distinct scents and flavors of each human he'd taken. Turning away from it had been virtually impossible, a true testament to Edward's will. But he had made the choice, he had left that existence; he sacrificed perfection of the drink for his conscience.

* * *

_**March 21, 2009  
9:37 pm  
The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington State**_

The three days long hunt had given Edward much-needed reprieve from the tortures of their counterfeit existence as well as the constant clattering of voices inside his head. He had returned to their home place recharged and relaxed.

Sitting in the large, overstuffed leather armchair by the crackling fire, yet another pleasant but unnecessary prop, he studied a large volume of the oddly feminist verses of Syrian poet, Nizar Qabbani. So engrossed in the progressive lines, he didn't notice the anxious, silent voice outside the front door. When the tentative knock came, his head shot up, and he chuckled to himself at his own surprise.

He could hear the internal ramblings of the man standing on their darkened porch. He was nervous, and rightly so. While his family was little danger to their human neighbors, humans, instinctively, were leery of them. They were beautiful to their prey, the vampire features perfected by the venom elixir that changed them, their voices seductive and alluring. Their scent was enticing and inviting. Like a moth to a flame, humans were drawn to their physical wares. Yet, their human unconscious told them to be wary, told them of the hidden danger. The man on the porch was hesitant, eager to deliver his message and be gone. Edward opened the door to find the man wringing his hands in stress, eyes darting to and fro.

"May I help you?" he asked softly, trying to ease the man's tension.

"Um, is a Mister Edward Cullen here?" the man stammered.

"Yes, I am he."

He rushed, "Mr. Cullen, I have a delivery for you. If you could sign here, showing that you received the package."

Edward took the electronic pad, and quickly signed. "Thank you. Have a good evening," he said, charitably dismissing the messenger, and taking the small, cardboard envelope.

Intrigued, he returned to his chair with the parcel. _Strange_, he thought. While deliveries were not uncommon at their home, a small package directed to him, and delivered late on a Saturday evening was indeed out of the norm.

The envelope had no outer markings, no stamp, no bar code. Edward briefly wondered what the purpose of him signing the delivery pad had been; with no tagging, tracking the package would impossible. There were no discernable scents on the package other than the faint remnants of the delivery truck's heavy diesel exhaust and the sweaty saltiness of the delivery man's essence. His sharpened eyes noted no visual clues as to the origin of the package.

With a light touch. his knife-like nail sliced the thin paper board along the seam. Inside, he found only a two-inch by two-inch vacuum sealed, opaque plastic bag. Edward furrowed his brow, puzzled by the oddity. He held no fear of the contents of the bag for nothing in the human world could harm him. No, Edward was perplexed by this late night delivery, and by the mysterious plastic container.

Again, his nail sliced into the plastic. With the first opening in the polymer film, his senses were violently assaulted. His nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed from golden amber to coal-black. It was the most exquisite perfume he had ever smelled. The slight discomfort in his throat became a raging fire, climbing from the pit of his stomach to the tip of his tongue. He salivated like a rabid canine, venom dripping from his teeth. In that instant, all his attempts at humanity were lost; he was a vampire, a fearsome predator, and he smelled his prey, the most delicious prey he had ever encountered.

The lock of mahogany hair fell out of the plastic into his hand. His tongue darted out, and lightly touched the delicate strands. If it were possible, the taste was finer than the scent. His mind, reeling in the overpowering sensations, imagined the taste of this creature's blood. His mind screamed, _Mine_.

* * *

**A/N: **Deviation from canon. In this fic, Alice retains her abilities to see the future, but they are diminished from canon intensity. There is a key term, 'immediate' that is used to describe her abilities in the text. She cannot see weeks or months into the future. She can, however, see hours, and even days if the vision is strong/firm. Also, note: her abilities are strengthened by affinity. As in, she sees her family more clearly and easily than strangers.


	3. Nicole

_**March 21, 2009  
10:04 pm  
The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington State**_

_Mine_, Edward's thoughts raged, as wisps of the fragrant perfume swirled into his nostrils and coated his tongue.

Never, in more than the century of his existence, had Edward experienced the call of a human's blood so strongly, let alone reacted so violently and brutally at the mere essence. For several long moments, his mind rocked in the heightened sensations of his vampiric nature. The rough gurgling of the small stream more than two hundred yards from the house roared in his ears, and the iridescent sparkling and refraction of tiny dust flecks floating in the air blinded his eyes. The smoke from the fire tickled his skin, and the fine strands of hair in his fingers felt like the finest spider web weave.

His thirst was nearly incapacitating; the vicious clawing of his throat choked him as he tried to swallow back the thick pool of venom in his mouth.

_Edward, who was at the door?_ a silent voice called.

Broken from his entrancement by the sound of his name being called, Edward willed himself to move from what had been almost fifteen minutes of motionless activity. The distraction of Carlisle's unspoken call provided Edward the split second that he required to regain some measure of control. He immediately halted his breathing, knowing that as long as he refrained from inhaling the wretched scent, it would be possible to think clearly enough to decide how to rid himself of it. He held the offensive lock at arms' length, and then called back tensely in response, "Just a delivery for me, Carlisle. A book I'd ordered." His voice took on a gravelly, raspy vibration from the strain of his intense physiological battle.

_Son, are you okay? _

While no longer deliberately breathing in the scent helped, Edward's near-infallible memory tortured him. Forcibly snapping his teeth together and clenching his eyes shut, Edward again combated against the intense, primal urge to run from the house and track the ambrosial scent. _Carlisle_, he thought repeatedly, fighting to recall the kind, comforting images always present in his father's mind.

With his last portion of air, he replied in his musical, albeit tightly controlled, voice, "Yes, Carlisle, I'm fine."

Edward mutely prayed that Carlisle would not continue his inquiry; if he were to speak again, he would have to take another breath. He feared that if he were to inhale, his mind would be lost once more.

Having regained some sense of self, Edward's eyes angrily darted to the cause of his animalistic behavior—the piece of hair in his hand. With sudden clarity, he tightly held his last bit of breath, and extended his arm over the licking flames of the fire. Before the devilish scent could reclaim his sanity and tempt him with its call, he dropped the lock into the fire. Distancing himself from the hearth, he became mesmerized by the rapid charring and curling of the strands. Within seconds, no evidence of his moment of weakness remained. He followed by placing the mysterious cardboard envelope and plastic in the blaze.

Certain that nothing remained, Edward tentatively sampled the air. He could still smell the faint sweetness of the scent, though now, it was marred by the sharp odor of burned plastic. The furious fire in his throat abated to a rough scratching. In a certain attempt to rid himself of the perfume, Edward quickly dipped his hand into the flame to burn off any residual oils.

Finally free of the hair's all-consuming grip, Edward tensely settled back into the leather chair and considered how this package had come to him. Within seconds his mind reached the only possible and logical conclusion: _James_.

The only questions that remained now were: who, where, and exactly when. Nauseated from the inevitable outcome, Edward's body shook from the knowledge that this time, there would be no chance, and no question as to who would triumph. His head bowed from the shame of his acknowledgment.

* * *

_**January 3, 1989  
9:21 pm  
Warehouse District, Brooklyn, New York City**_

"Please, please, no!" she pleaded between sobs.

James stopped abruptly. He fisted a handful of auburn hair, roughly jerked her head back to meet his gaze, and said flatly, "Nicole, please tell me that you haven't already forgotten our agreement?"

"N-No," she stuttered through chattering teeth. Her eyes were unfocused and wild with terror. Judging by her staggered steps and inability to remain upright without considerable assistance, he assumed that she was near her limit. _Shock,_ he believed humans called it. _This is what I get for selecting an adolescent female_, he thought with annoyance. He chose her, however, because her scent was distinct. It had a certain flavor, an aroma close to that of sandalwood and vanilla, which would be difficult to resist, even for the most controlled vampire. The fact that she was relatively a child made her that much the better lure.

"Excellent. Please make sure that you don't forget. Really, I would hate to damage you to prove my point before he arrives. You should also be aware that I can never guarantee my own self control if I were to have to do such a thing. After all, you do smell delicious—mouthwatering, even.

"But don't fret, my dearest Nicole, there is a chance, of course, a very slight one, that you may live. So, please do behave yourself," he chuckled darkly.

The girl's eyes rolled back, and she moaned incoherently. _How infuriatingly fragile this one is!_ he fumed. He hoped that her heart would not fail before he had a chance to use her.

In a softer tone, one that he hoped mimicked comforting, he asked, "Can you walk?"

Answering him, her knees buckled, and she passed out.

James hissed in frustration. He callously threw her over his shoulder and walked with unnatural speed and stealth toward the prearranged location in the rear section of the old JVL warehouse.

Seconds later, he carelessly dumped the girl onto the floor in the corner. Her limbs splayed out, and twisted in ways that would cause her pain upon waking. James wondered if he should correct her positioning, but pitilessly decided against it. He did not intend on her living long enough for it to matter. Looking down at her light olive complexion, he could see the large, purplish bruises beginning to form along her temple and on her arms from her resistance. _Fragile, indeed_, he thought, disgusted. _How a vampire could form any sort of bond with these creatures is impossible to comprehend_.

Looking out the window, he pondered just how long it would be before the game _really_ started, before his adversary would arrive. The clues had been laid out weeks prior, and the scene was now set. He knew that the bait would be irresistible to his foe; he had but to wait for the fly to catch. And waiting was one of James's unique skills.

Hours later, James still maintained his position by the window, watching and waiting. His ears were unexpectedly assaulted by piercing wails and cries. He exhaled loudly and returned to the girl in the corner. His head tilted, studying her pose, and he asked, "Nicole, please be quiet. Your screeching is quite annoying. What do you need?"

The girl was sitting with her back against the wall, and was curled into a tight fetal position. He ascertained from the way she cradled her left arm that the shoulder was dislocated, probably from being thrown to the floor earlier. Hearing his question, she began to shake violently and hyperventilate. He could see the microscopic ice crystals formed from the water vapor in her short, quick pants.

_Well, I can't have her freeze to death now_, he mused. He quickly scanned the room, and found an old space heater and a ragged canvas tarp.

"Here, cover yourself," he told her as he connected the heater, and placed it in front of her.

"Do you need water?" he questioned, trying to distract her from passing out again. Though, having her unconscious was a reprieve to his ears. He reflected, _No, she needs to be awake; I need her screams._

She briefly looked up, and recognition glimmered. "P-P-Please, please don't kill me," she cried.

_Would this girl not learn?_ he seethed. He calmly walked toward her, bent down in front of her knees, and lightly backhanded her across the face. Light was a very relative term to James. The force of his blow knocked her sideways, and possibly fractured her cheekbone. James surmised that there would be no permanent or fatal damage, and smiled at his self control. He calmly said, "I told you to be quiet, Nicole. Now, do you need water?"

The girl cowered, and whimpered from the throbbing in her face. "Y-Yes, please," she stuttered.

"Very good, Nicole. I'm delighted that you seem to understand our arrangement. I can't have you dying of some natural cause now, can I?" he said, playfully.

The following evening, as darkness began to descend, James again took up his post by the window. He didn't expect his adversary to arrive by a plain sight route, but it pleased him to watch the sunlight die, and to watch shadows creep across the overgrown parking lot. Blue-black images wavered and shifted in the flickering light of the failing security lights. He vaguely recalled his human existence, a time when his senses had been dull and flat. From the moment his crimson eyes had reopened to the world, he relished the power and awareness that his vampire nature had given him. He shook his head, and he again could not fathom those that purposefully curbed their appetites.

A sudden, sharp intake of air alerted him to movement behind him. He whirled around in a blur, and was greeted to the image of a pale man dressed in black, gently lifting the girl from the floor.

Smiling darkly, he called out in a low voice that the human would not be able to detect. "Cullen. I thought you'd never arrive. You've never kept me waiting this long before. I thought that perhaps you'd finally ridden yourself of that oppressive conscience of yours."

Edward's eyes flashed in fury. He growled, "A child, James? Was that necessary? If you wanted me so badly, you should have found _me_. Leave them out of it."

James threw his head back and laughed. "You just don't get it, do you, Cullen?"

"Yes, I do get it. I understand that you are a sick, sadistic bastard who feeds off of fear and pain. You don't want to kill me. You want to torture me; you want retribution.

"Fine. Let's go," Edward said coldly.

* * *

_**January 12, 1989  
1:13 am  
The Cullen family home, fifty miles north of Edmonton, Alberta Province**_

"Carlisle!" a voice screamed. "Carlisle, Oh my God, come quickly!"

Rosalie's shrieking voice brought Edward into dim consciousness. His eyes opened to the darkness of the Canadian winter, strangely lit only by the abstract color swirls of Aurora Borealis. His eyes marveled at the patterns and twists created by the solar wind fluxes, and he hazily realized that in the time that his family had lived in their current home, he had never taken the time to appreciate the beauty of the world here.

If he were human, he would have been blue and frozen from exposure to the minus forty-degree temperature. As it were, he was fortunate that his vampire body was impervious to the raging snow and ice-blinding environment, and had adjusted to match the frigidity.

"Edward! Edward, can you hear me?" a low, calm voice asked. "Can you speak?"

_Carlisle, _he thought_. _

He swallowed loudly, and nodded his head infinitesimally. Pain registered immediately, and he gasped as his body began convulsing.

At the onset of the pain, his mind exploded with disjointed memories of his last moments of consciousness.

_The girl, the child. Body, broken and twisted. Auburn hair, slick from cold sweat. Dark, russet eyes. Eyes wide in horror searching his as he lifted her slight form. _

_James's wicked sneers and taunts. Confrontation. Screeching, growling, snarling. James's icy breath and iron grip on his throat. His hands tearing into James's chest. _

_Broken glass. Broken concrete. The sound of rending steel. The sound of riving flesh. The sound of snapping bodies. Vampire bodies. _

_The girl, the child. Screaming in agony. Body torn, bloodied, pale, and drained. Life lost. Blackness. _

"Agh, no! God, no!" Edward sobbed in dry, tearless heaves. The pain in his body resonated through his limbs with the wracks of his shaking.

"Edward! Edward, where are you hurt? Tell me, son. What happened to you? Where are you injured?" Carlisle asked in a more frantic voice.

He could only shake his head, unwilling to trust his voice.

Carlisle motioned for Emmett and Jasper to come lift Edward's body, and they gently carried him into the house. As they entered the living room, Edward heard Esme and Alice's hysterical cries.

"Oh my God! Carlisle! What happened to him? Who did this to him?" Alice breathed as her hands came up over her mouth in shock.

Esme was at Edward's side immediately, and she cried, "Edward! Oh, Edward! Please, please open your eyes!" Instinctively, she began tracing gentle, circular patterns along his exposed forearm, trying in vain to soothe his spasms. At her touch, blackness reclaimed him.

Hours, or perhaps days, later—Edward didn't know—he regained awareness.

A beam of gray, clouded sunlight streamed through the window. As his eyes turned to face the light, he recognized his surroundings. He was laid out across his never-used bed in his rarely used bedroom. A light, unnecessary blanket was stretched across him, a result of Esme's motherly tendencies, Edward assumed. One of his family members had cleaned him, and had thankfully dressed him.

Daylight brought some sense of calmness and acceptance. _I have failed_, he thought. _And a child had died horribly, because of me, and my war_. Edward sighed as guilt filled and spread through his body.

As he turned his head away from the window, he saw that the chair by the bed had a silent, unmoving occupant whose eyes were intently trained to Edward's face.

Their eyes met, and there was a long silence before Edward exhaled dejectedly. "Carlisle."

"Edward. How do you feel?" he asked.

Edward flexed his stiff muscles, and noted that he no longer felt the excruciating pain that he indistinctly recalled waking to in the snow. As he tentatively moved to sit up, Carlisle quickly rose up from the chair to assist him.

"Don't move too quickly, Edward. We're still not exactly sure how badly your body was damaged. I've never seen a vampire so badly injured, and yet, _not_ be killed afterward," he said cautiously.

Edward assumed that Carlisle was referring to the brief period Carlisle spent studying in Italy with the Volturi, the vampire ruling class. During that time, Carlisle had, no doubt, borne witness to the furious brutality of the Volturi's punishments.

"It looked as though someone or something had literally torn you limb from limb, and then, allowed you to re-assimilate. I've not seen cruelty like that. You must have been in unbearable pain.

"I wasn't exactly sure how to help you. I did the only thing I could think of. You were so weak, and obviously, you could not hunt. So, I acquired some human blood from a blood bank source. I'm sorry, Edward. I know that you adhere to a strict, non-human diet, as we all do. But, we had no choice in the matter."

Edward gave a mirthless chuckle. Human blood now coursed through his veins, thus providing him strength to heal, and his injuries were the result of his desperate attempt to save one such human. This irony was not lost on him.

"Are you still in pain?" Carlisle asked softly.

"No. Not in the sense that you mean, Carlisle. Thank you for taking me back in and for caring for me, while I was..._out of it_," Edward responded heavily. "I don't deserve it."

He could see anger tint his creator's eyes, but Carlisle said nothing. Instead, he asked, "Do you know how you made it back? I don't see how you could have carried yourself."

"No, I don't have any idea. None at all," Edward returned despondently. He had ideas, but none that he was willing to share. In a nervous gesture, he ran his hands roughly though his bronze hair.

Carlisle eyed him warily, and began, "Son, what _happened_? Where were you? One day, we were helping Esme remove the Christmas decorations. And then the next, you vanished. No notice. Not a single word to anyone. We couldn't even track you. Your scent led us to the river. All we could tell was that you had broken through the ice layer and swam somewhere south.

"We didn't know what to think. We didn't know if you even wanted us to look for you. We thought that your disappearing had all ended. You haven't left us for more than twenty-five years. Is this related to the last time?" Carlisle's last lines held the heat and aggravation of a father questioning a wayward son.

Edward closed his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath. He could smell his creator's scent, a familiar almond-like fragrance, a scent that usually brought him relaxation. He exhaled slowly, and looked back to Carlisle. He thought, _I cannot, I will not bring them into this. This is my battle, my shame. I will not let my loved ones be hurt by my failures. _

"I can't, Carlisle. I won't," he said solidly as he shook his head.

He could tell that Carlisle was disappointed by his reticence, but his compassionate nature superseded his discontent. "Edward, I don't know what has happened to you. And I do not know why you won't tell me. But, it is yours to decide; I will not pressure you. I _will_ be here any time you wish to speak of this."

"Thank you, Carlisle. Maybe one day I can explain everything," he murmured. _One day, after I kill James_, he thought.


	4. Accident

**_November 25, 2008  
8:31 pm  
University Commons, Tucson, Arizona_**

A sharp tapping wrenched Bella into awareness. Her startled russet irises jumped from the tattered pages of the thick volume of Austen resting comfortably on her lap. Still entranced in the delicate Romantic Era prose, she was momentarily unsure if her ears had deceived her.

Three more curt raps answered her silent query. She hastily scrambled from the deep-set armchair, wondering who could possibly be calling at this hour on a weekday. Most of Bella's friends, including her roommate, had already left for the holiday. Bella had been tempted to do the same so that she could spend the additional time with her mother; the three years out of her mother's house had not lessened their closeness and friendship. Bella's responsible, conscientious, driven side, however, had forced her to remain in Tucson the extra day to complete the last essay assignment for her Gender Roles in Literature course.

As she approached the door, Bella grimaced, assuming that inevitably, it would be a student hawking magazine subscriptions for an unnamed charity or summer trip. She glanced over to the ever-thinning wallet peeking out from the top of her purse and sighed quietly. She assumed that her relentless soft spot for fellow students would result in yet another coffee table periodical.

The distorted image through the small peephole confounded Bella. Her heart jumped in her chest, and a deep sense of dread dropped her stomach. Nervously, she jerked the door open to reveal two men standing in the dusky, yellowed light of her doorway.

"Ma'am? Are you Isabella Swan?" a man in dark blue asked quietly.

She stuttered a shaky acknowledgement as she wrung her hands.

"Ms. Swan, are you the daughter of Ms. Renee Dwyer?" the man inquired.

"Y-yes," she uttered as her eyes pricked. Time slowed, and she vaguely recognized that the man's lips were moving in response to her reply.

Silently, she took in the men in front of her. They were opposites in appearance. One could have been no older than she was, no more than twenty-one. He was tall, lanky, and his face was pitted with the residual scars of his adolescence. A faint odor of sweat and inexpensive cologne wafted toward her. The other man, the man whose lips were moving, was older, shorter, plumper, and had flat, short-cropped brown hair with splotches of ash at the temples. Both were dressed in the stiff, dark navy of their official status. Both men wore decidedly neutral expressions, and more importantly, both clasped their uniform caps respectfully in their hands.

"Ms. Swan? Did you hear me?" he asked gently.

She ripped her gaze from the metallic gold of his badge, and slowly shook her head.

"Ms. Swan? My name is John, Officer John Mitchell with the Phoenix Police. We regret to inform you that your mother, Ms. Renee Dwyer, was involved in a fatal car accident this afternoon," he repeated carefully.

Bella glared at the officers with open hostility. "No! That can't be right. This is some mistake! I just talked to her today, just this morning. I'm driving to Phoenix tomorrow! You're wrong!" Bella exclaimed, furiously shaking her mahogany curls.

The older man frowned sadly, and responded in a soothing tone, "I'm sorry, ma'am. I truly am."

Hot tears streaked down Bella's pale cheeks as she felt her world crash down around her. Strangely, as she looked around, her surroundings appeared unchanged, as if nothing had happened, as if time itself had not just stopped. Inside, however, she felt an overwhelming and desperate emptiness begin to consume her.

"Ms. Swan? We'll need you to accompany us to Phoenix."

In the early morning hours, Bella entered the large, brown brick building, a monumental artifact from the late sixties. Hurrying through the mirrored lobby, she glimpsed the image of a thin, small-framed woman, hunched over with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. The woman's cream-colored skin appeared sallow and pallid, and her eyes were dark and swollen. Her clothing was rumpled, as if she had slept in them, and her long hair was pulled up in a messy, hastily gathered ponytail. Bella minutely started as she grasped that the woman she saw was a reflection. Numbly, she turned away from the wall, and trained her eyes to the faint gray patterns in the flooring.

The halls smelled of antiseptic and stale vomit. Violet beams from overhead fluorescent lights bounced off of the white linoleum and walls, and threw eerie shadows in front of them as they moved down the long corridor. The loud clamoring of orderlies and patients was a dull whir in her ears. The shock of the previous night and the lack of sleep were evident in both her physical and mental responses. But, as she rounded the corner, she stopped abruptly at the sound of a panicked voice. Through tired ears and her numbed mind, vague and nonsensical words echoed and reverberated. She stood, and listened, uncomprehending, to two men arguing over her mother. _Her mother's remains,_ she corrected desolately.

"Are you sure, Dave?" a short, thin man asked excitedly. "Are you absolutely sure it was a car accident?" From her vantage, Bella could see the wild, flailing motions of the short man's arms. The man's face was animated, and his features twisted with nervousness. His pale blue scrubs were stained with red.

Another voice responded, "Jim, calm down. Yes, of course. Didn't you see the pictures from the scene? That car was destroyed. There was no way anyone could have survived that." His expressions were lost to Bella; she could only see the crisp, white angles of the back of his lab coat.

The short man nearly screamed, "That woman's body looks nothing like any other victim I've ever seen from a 'car accident.' Dave, her fucking carotid was collapsed! And where was the blood? She lost three quarters of her fucking blood! _That _does not happen in a damn car accident!"

"Jim, whoa there. Take a deep breath. Yeah, she did lose a lot of blood. But you saw the gashes, and there was a lot of blood on the ground. I'm sure it just drained into the soil. Besides, what else could it have been?" the other doctor cautioned. "Go home. You've worked a long shift. Your imagination is in overdrive. Ms. Dwyer's daughter will be here in a few minutes. She won't want to listen to your hysterics."

"Fine. Don't say I didn't log it," the short man spat as he turned to leave.

* * *

**_March 22, 2009  
6:17 pm  
Home of Chief Charles Swan, Forks, Washington _**

Bella walked into the shabby, yellow kitchen and groaned. "Dad, you didn't have to cook," she said with a faked cough and a wrinkle of her nose. "Seriously, I was planning to make a lasagna for dinner."

"I know, Bells. You do everything around here. You're always taking care of me. I want you to take a break for once. You need it," Charlie replied cheerfully.

Bella laughed at the large, orange-red splatters covering the once-white apron draped across her father's green uniform. "Thanks, Dad. Whatever would I do without your fabulous spaghetti and meatballs?" Bella teased with a smile.

Charlie's eyes twinkled, and he laughed, "Well, it _is_ an old Swan family recipe."

"Really? I didn't know they made Prego back when Grandma used to cook," Bella chuckled.

Tossing her purse to the side, she made herself busy by prying stuck noodles from the bottom of the warped metal pot. Inwardly, she questioned how her father had ever managed to feed himself for the past twenty-some years. After a moment's consideration, she smiled knowingly as she remembered the waitress at the local diner showing them to the 'Chief's table.'

Thirty minutes later, Bella and her father sat down at the tiny, battered two-person table in comfortable silence. It had taken months for them to reach this point; their first several weeks together had been anxious and often disrupted by bouts of tears. Charlie's love and concern for his only daughter was evident, but expressing emotion was not his forte.

Throughout Bella's childhood, Charlie had been a regular but infrequent part of her life, and Forks, Washington, had been nothing but a rainy, cold place she occasionally visited during summer vacations. When Bella relocated after her mother's death, Charlie had been clearly out of his element, and had not known how to handle or help his near-catatonic, grief-stricken daughter.

"Bells?" Charlie queried, his tone hesitant.

"Yeah, Dad?" Bella returned, distracted, as she flipped through a ragged paperback copy of _Wuthering Heights_.

"Um, have you thought about what we talked about?" he asked. His brows were angled sharply, and his hands twisted in discomfort.

Bella looked up at him with a small, sad smile. "Yeah, Dad. I talked to the admissions coordinator at the University of Washington yesterday. She looked over my grades from Arizona, and said most of my course work would transfer without a problem."

"Are you sure you want to do this? I know how much you used to hate Forks. Seattle won't be that much better," Charlie returned in a quiet voice. He quickly flushed in embarrassment, and earnestly muttered, "Don't get me wrong, I, uh, I'm really happy, Bella, that you've decided to stay close. I really am."

Bella sighed and replied, "Me too, Dad. And the University of Washington has a great literature program, so I won't be losing anything. I took a look at their graduate catalog, too, and it looks like I could take a few grad level classes that would double count if I wanted to pursue a Master's."

Charlie's face twisted, and he timidly whispered, "Bella, your mom would be so proud of you. I know she would."

"I know, Dad, I know," she breathed. Bella's eyes shut briefly as she fought the wave of depression that always accompanied the mention of her mother.

Seeing her obvious distress, Charlie cleared his throat and hurriedly changed the topic, asking, "I ran into Mrs. Newton today. She mentioned that you had filled out an application at their store?"

Relieved, Bella exhaled, and replied, "Yeah, I can't just sit around until fall. I'll go crazy. Unfortunately, there isn't much job-wise around town. But having a job at the store will be a nice distraction, and will help me save a little money for the fall semester."

"Bella, you don't have to work. You know that. You have your college fund. And if you aren't ready, that's ok."

Bella rose from the table to put the dishes away. Returning to the table, she gave her father a short, tight hug, and replied softly, "I know, Dad. I just really need to get out of the house. I can't sit around here moping forever. I'm going upstairs to read a little, and then head to bed."

Hours later, Bella lay on the small bed in the bedroom of her childhood, balled into a loose curl. Her fingers clawed and gripped the thin fabric of the worn sheets as she tried to contain her trembling. As her sobs quieted, she angrily cursed her memories for not fading, and cursed her mother for leaving her. The images of her mother's pale, purpled, and bloody face were impossible to forget, and nearly every night, she dreamed of those moments at the hospital. _That does not happen in a damn car accident!_ played in rhythmic cadence to the images that flashed across her vision.

She pulled the heavy wool blanket securely around her shoulders, desperately trying to drive the chills from her body. Finally, her shudders quieted, and the double dose of Ambien began to take effect. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she fell into a rare, dreamless, deep slumber.

* * *

**_March 24, 2009  
1:52 am  
The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington _**

The slip of pale, yellow paper shook violently in Edward's hand. The pungent industrial ink burned his tongue, and the roughness of the cheap paper chafed his fingertips. He read the typed script for what had to have been the hundredth time.

_My dearest Edward, _

_I hope that by now you have received my first package. Exquisite, isn't she? Believe me, her blood sings. Admittedly, it took everything I had to not take her for myself. The only thought that allowed me to abstain was the knowledge that if she appealed to me so strongly, there would be no doubt of your response. I'm sure you can't wait to meet her. _

_You have one month from tomorrow to locate the girl, one month before I take her myself. One month to locate our 'bella ragazza.' _

_Until then, dear brother,  
James_

Edward slammed the message on the thick wooden table and growled in sour frustration. _What in the hell did this mean?_ he groaned internally. _There was nothing here, not even a cryptic hint of where the poor girl resided. She could be anywhere. There was no use in this. How could I locate a girl I had never met or seen?_ Certainly, if he had ever been within a mile of her, he would have known it. And likely, she would not have survived the proximity. Even if he found her now, her safety and chance at life were forfeit. James knew him all too well. He had tempted Edward before, but never to this extent, never to the point of madness. _Why bother?_ Edward cried into his hands.

* * *

**_March 24, 2009  
8:45 am  
Downtown office of J. Jenks, Seattle, Washington_**

"Do you have anything?" Edward asked coolly. His stillness was alarming. His crisply starched white oxford and black slacks looked as though they were draped over a granite statue, not a man. Coupled with the chalky paleness of his complexion and the disturbing gold of his irises, he cut a striking and disarming figure.

"Um, no, Mr. Edward. I'm sorry, but we can't find a damn thing," stammered an obviously nervous, rotund man in an expensive dyed wool suit.

Edward's broad palm smacked the marble desk furiously, its sound echoing loudly in the cavernous office. If anyone had taken note, small, round indentions in the pattern of an outstretched hand would have been evident in the stone; the careless display of strength gave testament to the extent of Edward's fury. "Jenks, I told you to find something! Why do you give me nothing?" he snarled.

Hearing the other man's thoughts, Edward knew that there was more. His eyes burned into the other man's, and he breathed angrily, "Jenks, you are not telling me everything. I want the name."

Edward despised resorting to these means; it was not gentlemanly, and it made him feel base and tawdry. But, it was necessary. Strangely, the deliveryman's scent had vanished just outside of Forks, and Edward had been unable to follow him. Jenks, however, had the means and necessary contacts to locate what he could not. This was the reason that the Cullens maintained his employ through the years.

Jenks's mouth opened in surprise, and he anxiously sopped the sweat from his brow with his handkerchief. Edward smirked as he heard Jenks's quick recollection of Edward's disconcerting ability to ferret out secrets. He replied tensely, "Mr. Edward, I, uh, I'm sorry. The only thing I've found is the name of the deliveryman. We've only been working on this a day. We just need some time. I'm sending my best man to find and interrogate the deliveryman. We'll have some answers. Just give us time, sir."

"No! There is no time. Give me the name, and I will take care of it myself," Edward snapped irately. His eyes flickered and flashed at some unrecognizable emotion. Jenks had no misgivings of what Edward meant by 'taking care of it himself.' He had known the Cullen family for decades, and his now-deceased partner had for decades prior. Jenks was savvy enough to keep his observations and thoughts about the family to himself. The Cullens were not typical clients, but they were enormously wealthy, and had always been extremely good customers. One learned quickly in his business that money could erase virtually any reservation one might have.

Three hours later, Edward's unassuming Volvo sped down the backcountry road, its engine roaring as it was pushed to near maximum output. As he skimmed the outskirts of Hoquiam, he slowed reluctantly to avoid unwanted attention. _Now was not the time for scrutiny, nor was it the time for avoidable delays_, he thought.

He silently approached the man's dark cabin. Noting the small signals of life, he was thankful that the deliveryman appeared to be home, and _alive_. Considering his association, Edward would not have been surprised if James had killed the man once he had finished his bidding. But, he was alive. Edward could smell the distinct odor of the man's sweat, the same coarse smell that had tainted the cardboard envelope he had delivered. The man's heart thrummed in his ears, overpowering the blare of the television.

Seconds later, Edward had the deliveryman firmly pinned against the outdated paneled wall of his living room. The man exhaled sharply in surprise, and the sickening aroma of cigar smoke washed over Edward. His eyes were wide in terror, and he whimpered, "Please, sir, please don't kill me. I haven't said a word to anyone! Please!"

"Why do you say that?" Edward thundered with fire in his eyes.

"Wha-" the deliveryman cried.

Edward slammed him against the wall powerfully. "What do you mean 'haven't said a word'? To whom did you promise this?"

The man shook mutely as Edward detected the bitter odor and heat of flowing urine. "Damn you, tell me who gave you that package!"

"I, I, uh, I don't know. She, she looked like you, sort of. Sh-she was white, pale. And she, she broke my wrist. She gave me the money, and told me what to do.

"Please, don't kill me. God, don't tell her! She will kill me!" He panicked as he shuddered violently. His eyes began to roll back, and his skin blanched. His breath came in shallow, quick bursts, and his heart beat wildly against his ribcage. Through the man's rough, weathered skin, Edward could see the blood racing through his veins. The man was dangerously close to passing out from stress and shock.

Edward scanned the man's mind, and found his fear overwhelming, so much so that his thoughts were disjointed and incoherent. He berated himself for terrorizing the man so completely; his mind was useless in this condition. Releasing him, he guided him to the holey, gray sofa in the center of the room.

"Mr. Harrison, sit. Calm down. I am not going to kill you. I just need some information," he said, forcing his tone to be gentle and cordial.

The man eyed Edward with undisguised dread and fright, his lips frozen. Edward sighed, and calmly continued, "I apologize for scaring you, Mr. Harrison. You see, I am in a hurry. This woman has some information that I need. And I need you to tell me everything that you know. I will not kill you. That, I will swear to."

"About the girl?" the man faltered.

The man visibly cringed as Edward immediately stilled. Gritting his teeth in concentration, Edward strained, "Yes, exactly. I need to know everything that you know about the girl."

The man's heart slowly returned to a safe rate, and he dry washed his face as he struggled to recall the exchange with the woman. Beads of sweat littered his skin, and his breath was raspy and broken.

"She, the woman, that is, she never told me her name. But like I said, she was pale, white as a sheet, like you. And her eyes, they scared the shit out of me. They were the brightest red I've ever seen. Eyes just don't come like that," he breathed, tensely looking up to Edward's eyes, obviously comparing.

The man's quivering hands grasped and pulled anxiously at the frayed edges of the sofa cushion. Continuing in an aggrieved tone, he said, "She was deathly still, and she told me as long as I did what I was told, she would let me live."

Edward still could not make sense of the man's thoughts; they were all over the map, shifting between memories. "Mr. Harrison, the girl. Did you see her?" he pressed. The woman was certainly interesting, as James rarely used minions. But the girl was paramount.

"No, no one was with the woman. And she didn't say much. But I, I heard her say something to someone on her cell phone. She said something about the girl not being far away, easy to take. And then, something about 'surprised that he hadn't run across her before' and that 'he must never go into town.' That's it, sir. I swear! Please don't kill me! Please don't tell the woman!"

Edward absorbed his words, and compared them to the flitting memories passing through the man's mind. He wasn't lying; he truly had heard those phrases. _What did they mean? That was the puzzle._

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Harrison. Allow me to compensate you for any damages to your possessions and for your cooperation," Edward said politely as he rose to leave. A small stack of one hundred dollar bills was left on the sofa in his place.

Leaving Hoquiam, Edward mulled over this new knowledge. With nagging suspicions, he sharply turned his vehicle toward Forks proper.


	5. Waiting

**_March 25, 2009  
9:01 am  
Downtown Forks, Washington _**

Edward angrily paced down the broken sidewalk through town, listening to the cacophony of voices attacking his ears and his mind. His hands flew to his hair in anxiety and frustration as he listened intently for any sign, for any clue, as to the mystery of the deliveryman's confessions. All he had to go on was a handful of vague, clipped phrases that perhaps indicated that the girl was not across the country. He knew her hair was deep brown and silken, that she was beautiful, and of course, there was the given knowledge that she smelled more luscious than the finest flower gardens.

The town was small, boasting no more than five-thousand residents. The vast majority of them worked in or around the township-at the sawmill, the school, or the hospital. _Surely, I would be able to tell if the girl was here_, Edward thought. It could not take more than a few hours to sift through so few people. If she were here, he would know it.

The idea that this girl had been in Forks all along was preposterous. It was impossible that a creature so alluring could be within a day's run and he not be cognizant of her. _Impossible!_ he grated. But something nagged at his subconscious, obligating him to remain, treading along the wet, muddy central street. The sneering image of the flame-haired vampire in the deliveryman's memory as she laughed, 'he must never go in to town,' picked at and tormented Edward's thoughts. He was missing something, something obvious and crucial. His teeth clamped and gritted as he ransacked the thoughts of every human within mindshot.

He passed by the old shops, weathered and beaten from years of rain and wind. People, still bundled against the early spring chill, milled around him, checking off lists, and scurrying to and fro, seemingly oblivious that their very lives were at risk, that a vicious predator walked hidden in their midst. He caught the eye of more than one female passerby, obviously charmed by his physical wares. _No, madam, I do not think that you would want what I would have to offer you, _he chuckled darkly, as he heard the alarmingly explicit thoughts of a long-legged blond who brushed against him. As if _she_ could read _his_ thoughts, the woman started at her own intentional contact, and hurried away from him.

Edward gratefully acknowledged the woman's instinctive response. Humans naturally shied away from his kind; after the initial shock of his beauty, humans' innate sense of self-preservation forced them to give him a wide berth and drop their eyes from his gaze.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking or listening for. But as the hours and days progressed, he became more agitated and panicked; if he could not quickly locate this girl to protect her from James, and somehow, God willing, from himself, another innocent life would be lost, all because of him. Edward's chest clenched and ached from the impending decades of remorse that would surely follow if he were to fail. _How could I forgive myself if I permitted yet another death on my behalf?_ he thought miserably.

* * *

**_March 25, 2009  
10:26 am  
Just outside of Hoquiam, Washington _**

James boldly stepped out onto the lawn from the shadowed edge of the forest. Birds ceased chirping, and the forest creatures quieted, having detected the presence of imminent danger. The only discernable sound was the faint crunching of his scuffed leather boots cutting through the silence as he stalked across the frost-laden grass. The pungent odor of burning wood permeated his senses. He hated the smell; it was thick and bitter on his tongue.

As he approached the cabin, James reconsidered his initial plan, and smirked at his own cleverness. Instantly, he straightened from his low crouch and strode confidently, upright, to the covered porch. His ears pricked at the sounds issuing from within the small house. A television blasted, nearly obscuring the growling snores of the man. Mucus rattled in the man's throat. _Such a disgusting, slovenly species,_ he mused. With a twitch of his lips, he rapped sharply on the wooden door.

At the sound of his knock, he heard the man grumble incoherently at being awoken, then the slap of bare feet against tile.

"Good morning, Mr. Harrison," James said cheerfully, as the door opened to reveal a sloppily dressed man with wild, tangled hair. His eyes were weary and frightened, with dark bags underneath-evidence of his stress and lack of sleep. James's sharp sense of smell caught the mingled odors of tobacco, stale beer, sweat...and a hint of sweet honey. _Ah_, _Cullen,_ he thought with a sneer. _Bravo! You always were the quick one. _

Comprehension flickered on the man's face as he took in James's appearance. He recognized the pale, chalky complexion, the glaring crimson eyes, and the unnatural, angular perfection of his features. He started, and whimpered in dread as he retreated from the door, tripping over himself in his haste.

"Oh, Mr. Harrison. What shall we do with you?" James taunted, his head cocked playfully to the side. "I thought that it had been made abundantly clear to you that you were not to speak with anyone about your little visit with my mate. Yet, clearly, someone else has been by to visit with you. And I'm sure that you accommodated him and his inevitable inquiries."

The man stuttered and stumbled as he backed himself against a wall. "Pl-please, sir! I thought he was with you! Y-you, you look the same!" he cried. He held his shaking hands up as if preparing to ward off attack.

James stepped menacingly toward the man, his dark leather trench coat flapping behind him. With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he huffed in exasperation, "You humans, so pathetically foolish. Why, oh _why_, can you not follow simple instructions?"

His eyes darkened, and he continued with a pensive expression. "Regardless, I'm not pleased, Mr. Harrison. And I do not think that I will allow you to live."

James lunged at the man with deliberate slowness, knocking over the contents of a nearby table. Glass shattered and sprayed across the floor. He wanted the human to have a sporting chance, an opportunity to defend himself, regardless of the futility. Humans were more entertaining when they fought back. James watched, intrigued, as the man lurched and staggered clumsily across the broken glass to a corner of the room. As he brandished an old, stained baseball bat in false bravado, James threw his head back and laughed loudly. "Oh my, Mr. Harrison! How delightful! You want to play," he chuckled. "Very well. I must say I admire your 'spunk,' as you might call it. Killing you is _almost_ a shame."

The glass under his boots crackled, grinding into the clay tiles. The cloying smell of adrenaline and fear filled his nostrils, and James could hear the thundering sloshing sound of blood coursing through the man's veins. The man's pupils dilated, reminding him of a terrified deer.

Without warning, he instantly sprang at the man, deftly knocking the wooden bat from his hands with a single flick of his wrist. The man's arms flailed and grappled against his iron grip. The sickening crunch of bone echoed in the room as the radius and ulna of the man's forearm snapped and were crushed under James's fingers. Slivers of bone pierced flesh, and the man's agonized screams rang in his ears. Despite his injuries, the man still fought, swinging wildly with his remaining arm and flailing his legs. His bare feet thrashed, attempting in vain to find a mark.

James hissed as the smell of the man's gushing blood drenched his nostrils. Hot blood splattered his face. He roared in fury and primal desire, and threw the man across the room. The man crashed into the far wall, falling to the floor in a crumpled and broken heap. The man's spine was twisted and gnarled at unnatural angles. If it were not for the delectable, wet gurgles in the man's throat, James would have assumed the man to be dead.

He sprinted over to the man and crouched by his still body. His hands savagely seized the man's hunched shoulders and jerked him up. His eyes darted to the thudding pulse point of his neck, and he sank his teeth into the supple skin. The man's limbs were limp, paralyzed from impact. His eyes widened in silent terror as his blood and life were slowly sucked from his body. Moments later, James wiped his mouth in satisfaction and rose from the fallen corpse, leaving it empty and drained.

* * *

**_March 25, 2009  
3:47 pm  
Downtown Forks, Washington _**

_Seven hours and nothing_, Edward cursed, as his legs swiftly carried him across the street. _Fool. James would never be so obvious_. To any human observer, Edward's behavior would have appeared odd and out of place. Preoccupied, he had forgotten to maintain the human façade he had so carefully crafted since his family had relocated to the town. In his periphery, he noticed an elderly couple sitting together on a bench about a block away, speaking in low whispers and looking pointedly in his direction.

"Damn it," he barked under his breath, as he heard the suspicious tones of their unspoken thoughts. Through their minds, he saw all too clearly how he appeared to the locals. His motions were too fast, too inhuman. His bronzed hair was in wild disarray-more so than usual-from his continual tugging and tangling, an anxiety-induced habit, one of few that he had retained from his human life. His golden eyes flitted and shifted nervously from person to person, casting searing and scorching glares to any who made eye contact. His clothing was damp, and his dark denim pant legs were soiled from walking through the standing brown water. Edward noted the thoughts of the elderly couple. They assumed he was a crazed vagabond, an untrustworthy drifter, and were debating the need for police intervention.

He could not afford the time and effort necessary to explain away his peculiar tendencies and strange mannerisms. He regretted this, as he felt it was a dereliction of his duty as a Cullen to allow any suspicion or unwanted attention to linger without redress. With feigned nonchalance, he casually meandered out of sight, to the far edge of town where he could observe thoughts unseen. He surreptitiously glanced around for wary stares, and upon finding no notice of his presence in nearby minds, he settled himself on a rickety old bench across from the last building on the street. Closing his eyes, he stretched his mind, forcing himself to concentrate and individualize the muted thoughts of the humans nearby.

_Carrots, chicken, kitchen cleaner..._

_Not this again... I swear I'm going to leave him..._

_Need to change the baby..._

Nothing. There were no memories of a flame-haired woman, no thoughts of a new resident. There was nothing, nothing at all but commonplace thoughts of dinners and shopping, significant others, and money. No girl.

_Ridiculous_, he thought. Edward pondered how long he should continue his pointless vigil. He was wasting precious time, and he was fuming. _Yet, what else could I do?_ he seethed. He had nothing else. He spat maledictions at James. One way or another, this time he would kill him-regardless of whether or not he could save this human girl.

His eyes swept the street in front of him, taking in minute details no human could ever discern. Drab, muted, beams of light danced off of the glittering pavement. Hairline cracks splintered and sprayed the burgundy and gray painted panels of building façades. The smell of gasoline and sawdust impregnated the air, thickened and concentrated by the misty fog that had crept across town.

The downtown populace was dwindling, retreating from Edward's view and returning to their cozy homes and families after the long workday. _Just a few minutes more_, he rationalized, unwilling to give in to reasonableness. _Just a one or two more minds to sift through._

His eyes quickly scanned the emptying sidewalks, concentrating on those few minds that he had yet to touch.

A red-faced, overly tall man in a bright yellow rain slicker came into view. _Nothing_. Next, a plump, dark-skinned, single mother of two sped past. _Nothing_. A pimply teenage boy with spiky hair and his too-young girlfriend slinked conspicuously down the sidewalk. _Nothing, and nothing_. The young pair was flanked by a brash, loud-mouthed truck driver in a faded flannel shirt shuffling to his parked rig. _Nothing_.

Edward's eyes closed involuntarily as he sullenly accepted defeat. _Pointless_, he sighed, as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, out of both frustration and despair.

He mentally gathered himself, preparing to accept that finding the girl was a hopeless endeavor. In that crushing moment of defeat, he froze when heard the whisper of an unrecognizable voice.

_Strange_, he thought. Edward was certain that he had memorized every voice, both mental and spoken, in the entirety of Forks.

"Thank you, Mrs. Newton. I really appreciate you giving me this job," a soft, girlish voice called.

Edward's head whipped around to the left, toward the sound of this new voice. But the voice did not speak again. He focused every cell in his body in the direction from which he'd heard her. His brows furrowed, and his lips pursed in concentration. _New?_ he pondered.

_Where is the mental context? Where is she? Why have I not heard this voice? Why do I not _hear_ her? _His mind raced through these thoughts in less than a second. Edward was perplexed by this conundrum; humans' mental voices were always pitched in the same tone and frequency as spoken voices. Once he'd heard either, he could pinpoint an individual with virtually no effort. But he heard no thoughts to match this voice.

Finding nothing, he rapidly searched out the mind of the voice's companion, Mrs. Newton, the owner of one of the local shops. Hers was a simple mind to locate, having heard her many times. Through her thoughts, he saw a frail, thin human girl. Her visage was a study in contrasts-dark hair and eyes with nearly translucent, pale skin. Sympathy tinged Mrs. Newton's thoughts, but her mind gave him little else.

_This_ girlwas new. Nothing escaped the accuracy of his vampire sight and mind. Edward could recall with painstaking detail every individual he had ever encountered. Yet, he was certain that he had never seen this small girl, a fact that intrigued him. _Coincidence, perhaps?_

Still unable to pinpoint the girl's thoughts, he rose from the bench on which he had been perched and strode, soundlessly, toward the Newton's store. He stopped across the street and leaned against the side of a vacant storefront, his presence obscured by shadow. Through its dusty and scratched plate glass windows, he could see the girl and Mrs. Newton.

Still, he detected no sound from the girl's mind, despite being mere yards from her. _How frustrating!_ he mused, disconcerted by his inability to hear her. He shook his head roughly, and tried again to focus on her thoughts.

"Ok, dear. How about you lock up for me tonight? Be here tomorrow at ten in the morning?"

The girl gave a small, kind smile, and replied in low tone, "Yes, ma'am. I'll be glad to."

Her lips were moving, and he distinctly heard her spoken voice; it was as clear as if she were standing beside him. Bewildered, he stilled, and studied her.

Mrs. Newton's visions had been clouded; her thoughts had done this girl little justice. The girl was obviously beautiful, petite with gentle, feminine curves. Her dark, russet eyes bespoke quiet intelligence and depth, and her skin was like porcelain. While her thoughts remained a confounding mystery, her features were highly animated, and her emotions were as clear as if she spoke them aloud. Kindness and sincerity emanated from her as she bid Mrs. Newton a good evening.

Mrs. Newton uttered a few final, short instructions on how to set the security system, and turned to leave. As the glass door swung open, the smells of leather, rubber, and bleached canvas wafted across to him. Mrs. Newton crossed the empty street, and rushed by him to her vehicle, completely oblivious to his presence. As she passed, the air swirled, and Edward's senses were assaulted by faint strains of an all too familiar scent.

At that very moment, the glass door sprang shut, sending a powerful, thick wave of the same luscious perfume over him. The girl's essence hit him like a wrecking ball. The low burn in his throat suddenly ripped and clawed inside him. Venom bubbled on his tongue, and his jaw snapped. He sucked in mouthfuls of her ambrosial aroma, bathing in her.

Edward's muscles violently twitched and flexed. His eyes blackened in bloodlust, and a low snarl rumbled deep in his chest. His fingers curved into talons as he instinctually dropped into a crouch, ready to spring and take his prey.

He saw only the girl; his entire being converged on the fragrant, fragile creature behind the glass. Her heartbeat reverberated through his limbs, and the wet smacking of her pulsing blood taunted and tantalized him.

Unknowingly, unconsciously, Edward stealthily edged out from his dark place of concealment into the street. His eyes locked on the girl, watching her every motion through his lethal sights. He could see the expansion and contraction of her chest, the thudding of her jugular. _Mine!_ he screamed silently, as red haze obscured his vision.

Without warning, the roar of a passing logger interrupted his approach, startling his mind and breaking his hunt. Awareness briefly flitted, and he hurled himself backward. Edward halted his breathing, and in a white, streaky blur, he fled the town, _the girl._

His mind rocked and reeled as he raced through the trees. _No!_ he howled. _No! No! Not her!_


	6. Suspicion

**_March 25, 2009  
4:51 pm  
Downtown Forks, Washington _**

Blaring noise rattled through the glass storefront and echoed against the stressed wood wall panels, startling Bella. Her palm flew to her chest as she sucked in a rough, short breath. "Just a horn," she muttered to herself, exhaling in relief. She glanced around the center display stand, which currently showcased the most recent backpack arrivals. A large mud-splattered rig suddenly raced past, startling her once more. As soon as the truck cleared her line of site, Bella caught a fleeting glimpse of white and bronze flashing by. The blurred figure darted from underneath the awning across the street, only to disappear in the opposite direction just as abruptly. Bella's head cocked to the side, confused by this impossible apparition, certain that her eyes had misled her. Disconcerted and filled with odd foreboding, she replayed the sight over and over; after a brief moment of consideration, she decided that her eyes must have deceived her. _No one is that fast_, she concluded.

"Ridiculous, Bella. You've turned into a real skittish lunatic," she chastised out loud. Grabbing a nearby broom, she began furiously sweeping the spotless chestnut floor planks to distract herself from the images flitting through her mind. Her hands gripped the textured plastic handle as if it were a lifeline. Her heart stepped up in time, and her breath came in quick bursts. "Impossible, Bella," she muttered in irritation. Her mind continued, without permission, to replay the image of the ephemeral, white-bronze ghost that she was trying to convince herself she hadn't seen.

The rhythmic _swish-swish_ of straw scraping wood distracted her from the disquieting circuit of her thoughts and lulled her into calmness. At quarter to six, she replaced her broom and went to go through the hand-written checklist that Mrs. Newton had provided.

_ - Close out the cash register (Mr. Newton will count and reconcile in the morning. He can show you how for next time.)_

_ - Lock the cash drawer underneath the counter_

_ - Pull the window cage down and lock (I don't know why Mr. Newton had these installed; really unnecessary in Forks!) _

_- Check the lights (Front and back floodlights should always be on. We also leave the main office light on.)_

_ - Lock the front and back entrances (Be sure to set the alarm - Mike's birthday!)_

Bella smiled at Mrs. Newton's hasty scrawl and personal notes. She had gone over these directions with Bella at least ten times, and then repeated her son's birthday another ten times. Bella had the distinct impression that Mrs. Newton had every intention of throwing Mike and her together at every chance possible. She wasn't looking forward to the inevitable awkward situations when Mike came home from college for the summer.

As she returned to the front of the store after bolting the backdoor, her eyes locked onto two pale figures standing and seemingly arguing just outside of the front entryway. Separated by the dust-filmed glass, no sound reached her, but she clearly saw their lips moving rapidly.

One of them was a tiny girl, or perhaps a young woman-Bella couldn't tell from the distance and the angle. What she was sure of, though, was that she was short and thin, and her movements were fluid and graceful. Her belted, white slicker and her equally colorless complexion contrasted dramatically with her cropped jet-black hair. The other figure was a tall, lithe man, perhaps in his early twenties with wavy, blond hair, and a serious expression. From the way his features shifted and hardened and by the animated gestures of his hands, he looked as though he was trying to convince the small girl to leave. _How curious_, Bella pondered.

She continued her observation from behind the counter, intrigued by this odd couple. Bella knew that she hadn't seen them before. Although she spent the majority of her time cloistered in her father's cozy home, Forks was a small town; these two would have made an impression. She imagined that the couple was just passing through. After all, Mrs. Newton had explained to her that theirs was the only sporting goods store for miles. She'd said that the Peninsula was a popular hiking and camping area. They often sold supplies to hikers passing through the area.

Without warning, both figures turned toward the glass. Their eyes met Bella's, and at once, she felt strangely unnerved. Something about them was..._off_. The small woman - facing directly, Bella could see that the girl was probably around her own age - blinked twice, and suddenly whipped the glass door open. The blond gentleman was left standing with a confused and seemingly aggravated expression. But before the woman crossed the threshold, the man followed quickly on her heels.

It was nearly time to close the shop, but before Bella could react, the couple crossed the space between them, not bothering to peruse any of the merchandise.

"Hi. I'm Alice Cullen," the woman said with a smile, extending her diminutive palm in greeting. Stunned by the woman's forwardness, Bella's jaw dropped. Recovering, she hastily took the woman's outstretched hand and politely uttered her own introduction.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Bella. This is Jasper," Alice chirped.

"Bella, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," the tall man drawled in a pleasant-sounding southern accent.

For a moment, Bella was speechless. These two were unlike any people she'd ever encountered. While in many ways, they were complete opposites in appearance, in others, they were the exactly the same. They were both chalky white, had extraordinary yellow-amber irises, and were exceptionally beautiful, nearly inhumanly so. Their features were flawless, angular and symmetrical. They looked almost as if they were siblings, but they were clearly together as a couple. Jasper's hand rested protectively at the small of Alice's back, and she periodically glanced up at him with obvious affection.

"Is there something I can help you with? Unfortunately, we close at six. But if you are looking for something in particular, I'll be glad to stay open a few extra minutes," Bella replied cordially, barely disguising her surprise.

"Oh, Bella. We're not looking for anything. We just haven't seen you before in town, and were curious if you were new. We're pretty new to the area, too. We just wanted to introduce ourselves," she said with a reassuring grin.

Bella smiled back, unable to resist Alice's infectious good humor. "Thank you, Alice, Jasper. I am pretty new to the area. I, um, I moved up a few months ago to live with my father," Bella said softly.

From Alice's thoughtful expression, Bella surmised that she wanted to ask more about that, but instead, she just replied how happy she was to see another new face.

After a few more moments of polite, casual chatter, Alice peeked up to her companion with what appeared to be apprehension before continuing the conversation. "Bella, has anyone else been in the store? Or, maybe outside? I thought perhaps my brother had passed through," she asked cautiously.

* * *

**_March 25, 2009  
6:09 pm  
Fifteen miles west of Forks, Washington _**

He had to hunt, had to sate his thirst in some way. The mind-numbing flavor of her-_Isabella_, as he'd learned from Mrs. Newton's scattered thoughts-still cloyed and burned his throat. His mouth and tongue were on fire, parched and wanting. His vision remained tinged red, but he was certain that outwardly, his eyes were obsidian from thirst. He could still smell her; his clothes were covered in her scent.

Edward raced through the heavy undergrowth, carrying himself as far away from her as possible. As he ran, he shed his jacket and shirt, trying in vain to remove her persistent smell from himself. He recognized the futility of his actions; his flawless memory would preserve her perfect fragrance for all time. She would haunt him forever.

As he crossed a burbling and rain-swollen brook, another scent assaulted him. It was tangy and wild-wan in comparison to the girl's intoxicating scent, but it would do. It would at least calm the fiery blaze in his esophagus.

Jerking his body to a halt, he crouched low and allowed his senses to trace and track the spicy aroma. The rapid thrumming of heartbeats pulled his body forward into a bramble thicket. Two deer, one a large, antlered buck, came within sight.

Targeting the heavy male, Edward shot out from under the tangled bushes. The buck startled and leapt from the copse. But Edward was faster, infallible in his pursuit. Within seconds, his arms locked around the mammal's neck as his teeth tore through the thick hide. The blood was hot and piquant, but dull in comparison to his true craving. Regardless of the lesser flavor, the raging fire in his throat subdued to an uncomfortable scratching sensation. As an added precaution, Edward took down a second deer, a smaller doe. He drained her quickly and unceremoniously, still having given himself over to his primal instincts.

Feeling full, sloshy even, from the fresh blood supply, Edward's mind and vision cleared, and he began to contemplate the situation at hand. Unwilling to meet his family face to face, he took his time going home, opting to traverse a winding and circuitous route. He was still addled and nervous; Jasper would be able to detect his wild emotions within a five-mile radius. And then there was Alice; Alice was always uncomfortably perceptive. He needed time to think, and to gather himself. _What can I do?_ he questioned unhappily. _Damn, James!_ _Why her? Why this perfectly innocent, beautiful girl?_ But the answer was clear and painfully obvious. This girl was specifically chosen because of Edward himself. James knew what aromas appealed to Edward, and this time, he had been blessed with uncanny luck-the girl's unbelievable misfortune-as she unknowingly called to him with a force that James never could have foreseen. If he hadn't been denying his thirst for the last three-quarters of a century, Edward knew with no doubt that her blood would have been spilled the moment that glass door opened.

Edward slowed to an unhurried pace as he approached his home. He could hear the quasi-human sounds of Esme baking. He'd always marveled at her human-like behaviors. Despite the fact that no one in the house ate actual food - in actuality, Edward found human food mildly repulsive - she still cooked from time to time. When asked why, she would respond with a delicate shrug and a shy smile, and explanation that it made her feel more natural, more human.

_Edward, where have you been?_ a silent soprano called from inside the house.

"Just out and about, Alice," he replied quietly, though loud enough for her enhanced hearing.

_We know you were in town today, all day. What were you doing?_ she asked again.

A second mental voice, this one a deep bass, called in a concerned tone, _Edward, something is wrong. What is it?_

His boots echoed against the hundred-year-old painted boards of the porch. He reached for the antiqued brass knob, but before he touched it, the front door flew open. Alice, small and sprite, stood in the doorway, blocking his entry. Her small hands were on her hips, and her face was a mask of irritation.

Jasper's tall form was visible behind her. He was stock still, leaning against the dark wood banister, and his face twisted as he absorbed the intense emotions rolling off of Edward.

Edward sidestepped Alice's petite frame and entered the soft beiges and whites of their home. He paused several feet away from Jasper, knowing that this conversation was unavoidable.

He could hear their thoughts as plainly as if they'd spoken them aloud. They were both baffled, Jasper especially. Edward could feel the emotions he was emitting, bouncing from himself to Jasper, and then back again through Jasper's thoughts. They were wild, a shifting and heady mixture of fear, bloodlust, confusion, anger, and guilt. He could hear Jasper's own struggles as Edward's powerful blood urges rippled throughout him.

"Edward! You didn't!" he accused angrily. His thoughts were raging; his mind sped through a dozen different graphic and bloody scenarios in which Edward murdered and drained some innocent inhabitant of Forks.

"No, Jasper! Of course I didn't. Can't you see my eyes? I just went hunting!" he exclaimed with false incredulity. Normally, Edward would have been insulted that Jasper could so easily believe that he could have slipped. He'd been faultlessly practicing abstinence for decades. Yet guilt and shame outweighed any indignation he might have felt as the fresh memories of his near loss of control ate away at his conscience. He wanted to run and hide in disgrace.

Alice had seen something in a vision, but she was purposefully blocking him, denying him a clear picture of whatever it was. Her mind was speeding through a translation of Lord Byron's sonnets into Greek. Perhaps she had seen him kill the girl. Perhaps she had seen James. He feared that the walls of deception he had spent decades building would come crashing down. Whatever it was that Alice had seen, he had to dispel it; he had to lie. He couldn't allow anyone in his family be put in any danger.

"We caught your scent outside Newton's store," Jasper pressed, obviously irritated. "But you didn't go in. Why?"

Edward's eyes widened imperceptibly, and he forced his best poker face. He had to give just enough of the truth to satisfy them. He said, with convincing assurance, "Nothing really, Jasper. I just saw someone that I hadn't seen before in Forks, and I was curious. Admittedly, she had a certain scent about her that was more tempting than usual. But it was nothing at all."

Alice eyed him suspiciously for several long moments, her amber irises boring into him in silent inquisition, though her own mind was now dissecting Ertl's seminal studies on solid state chemical processes. She knew something was wrong; she wouldn't have blocked him otherwise. _She knew_, he panicked.

Unexpectedly, she stepped forward and gently laid her hand on his forearm. "Of course, Jasper. Look at his eyes. No harm was done," she said encouragingly. While her words were soothing and calm, they belied frantic and bewildered thoughts, finally discernable and unconcealed to Edward. But they were speeding too quickly, and were too scattered for him to follow the train coherently. The pieces were there, however; glimpses of the girl, glimpses of him waiting and watching from across the street, the blare of the logging truck.

And to Edward's utter amazement, he caught flashes of a conversation, a conversation with _Bella- _not Isabella-Swan, a new girl in town, a girl who spoke to his family as if they were like anyone else, a girl who radiated sweetness and sincerity. _James! Oh, how I underestimated him. Somehow, he'd set everything up, _he groaned internally. The thought of James harming this girl suddenly became all the more painful. He had to find a way to save her from James, but first, he had to find a way to save her from himself.

* * *

**_March 25, 2009  
7:42 pm  
Home of Chief Charles Swan, Forks, Washington _**

Bella's decrepit old truck came to a lurching halt. It was a dented, faded, red shrine to a bygone era, and its accelerator barely reached sixty miles per hour. Because of all that, despite what others thought, Bella had been excited and relieved when Charlie brought it home. It gave her freedom, and it had a certain personality to it, an individuality that suited her. Additionally, it was one of those old iron affairs, the type that would demolish any of the newer imports. She felt safe enclosed in its tobacco- and peppermint-scented cabin.

With slight trepidation, Bella tiptoed around the deep puddles in the driveway, and cautiously walked to the front entrance. Beneath the orange glow of the front porch light, she fished for her keys. Suddenly, something tickled the back of her neck. The hair on her arms stood on end, and a shiver ran down her spine. Her heart stuttered in sudden, inexplicable fright, and her skin broke out in a light, cold sweat. She spun on her heel, her dark locks flying, and her eyes swept the darkened landscape. It felt as though something was out there, something that watched her, and she had the uncomfortable impression that whoever-or whatever-it was, was malevolent.

The sound of deep-pitched laughter from within the house broke her absorption. Bella shook her head, trying to rid herself from the unfounded and discomposing feelings. Before turning the lock, she palmed her slick forehead and quickly dry-washed her face. "No one is out there, Bella. You are just being silly. This is Forks!" she muttered to herself.

Inside the aged, homey living room, Bella saw three men: her father in his normal position, lounged back in his scruffy forest green recliner, another splayed out across the matching sofa, and the third in a tattered wheelchair. Immediately, she recognized the two guests. One was Billy Black, her father's friend of probably more than thirty years. He was dark-skinned with long, brown-black hair, his barely wrinkled features clearly displaying his undiluted Quileute ancestry.

His son, Jacob, was the other man, the long-limbed one. Jacob was a taller, leaner, and much more muscled version of his father. His face broke into a wide, toothy grin at the sight of Bella.

She remembered that grin. It had been years since she'd seen Jacob; they'd been barely teenagers the last time they spoke. But this Jacob in front of her had changed remarkably in that time. His face had lost all of its roundness, and it looked as though it'd been chiseled from a piece of richly stained hardwood. His short-clipped hair framed and accentuated his attractive features. Bella couldn't avert the upturn of her lips in both recognition and in appreciation.

"Bella!" he exclaimed, jumping up from the couch.

She had misjudged his height; his head wasn't far from touching the light fixture. _He is huge!_ she thought. Without warning, Jacob pulled her into a tight hug. Her head barely hit him mid-chest, and his limbs encircled her frame completely. He was warm, and his strong arms felt comfortable around hers. The residual unease she'd felt outside the house vanished. She pulled away from his warmth with a touch of reluctance, and held him at arm's length to get a better look at him.

"Jake! Long time, no see. Wow, did you grow a foot or something?" she said with another smile. "How is the University of Washington?"

Jacob laughed a deep, rumbling laugh from the depths of his chest. "Ha, yeah, I did probably grow a foot. Call it a Quileute gene or something. And school is great. A few classes are kicking my ass, but I'm holding my own. I'm just glad a couple of my classes were canceled this week so I could come home. I missed spring break. And I think my dad missed me."

Billy rolled his eyes, and joked back, "You just ran out of laundry and needed a cheap Laundromat. Not to mention a free meal. You should see that kid eat!"

After some good-natured banter, Jacob turned back to Bella and continued, "How's life in Forks?"

Not wanting to lie, but not wanting to insult her father's town, either, she chose her words carefully. Of course, it had a certain charm, but Forks was nothing like Phoenix or Tucson, and she missed the sun and the city life. "Um, well, Forks is...wet. And green. But, it's ok. I haven't really taken in too much of the town, other than the grocery store, the library- which is horrible by the way-and well, now Newton's. I'm working there a few days a week," Bella replied.

Jacob's brows climbed, and he asked in confusion, "So you are staying, then?"

Bella's expression clouded in sadness as images of her mother flitted through her memory without permission. Struggling to maintain their friendly and playful exchange, she teased, with a wink to her father, "Oh, God, no! I couldn't take any more of Charlie's cooking!

"No, really, I'm planning to start back at school in the fall semester. I'm transferring to the University of Washington to finish out my degree, and probably to stay on for a Master's. Their literature program is quite good."

"Seriously?" Jacob asked with enthusiasm. "Hey, we'll both be in Seattle!"

Jacob's cheerful and enthusiastic demeanor was contagious. The idea of having a friend, someone whom she could talk to, relax with, and perhaps have fun with was infinitely appealing after the past several months of solitude filled with darkness and despair. Bella replied eagerly, "That's right. You'll have to show me around. I think it will be great. And I'm really looking forward to getting back to school."

"Bells, we'll have so much fun together. You'll see," Jacob said with a wide smile and indicative wink. "And maybe we can hang out some this weekend. I'll be here until Monday, at least. And maybe longer if my professor doesn't get over his bout of pneumonia."


	7. Elizabeth

_**March 25, 2009  
10:51 pm  
Unknown, Seattle, Washington**_

Flame-red hair floated across the rooftops. The vampire's lithe body carried her from building to building with the grace and silence of a panther. Against the white glow of the new moon, her pale complexion appeared otherworldly, as if it were a figment of an overly imaginative mind. Were anyone to cross her skyline path, he would have startled at the blood-red irises of her almond shaped eyes.

From a distant high-rise, James stood motionless, watching her as she rapidly approached their appointed meeting place. The soft thuds of her footfalls were barely discernable above the echoes of human life below, a disharmony of wailing horns, clacking train tracks, and the piercing cries of children. A chilled breeze ruffled his mottled blonde hair, carrying with it her familiar scent, a soothing mixture of jasmine and citrus.

With a final leap, she dropped down the side of a building face and out of his view. Powerful strides propelled him forward, targeting the same shadowy crevice into which she had disappeared.

He landed silently, balanced on the balls of his feet, body coiled to absorb the impact of his descent. His eyes lifted from the cracked pavement to his umbral surroundings; the fire-haired vampire was nowhere to be seen. But, he smelled her.

It was a dark nook, out of the way and unseen, a forgotten alleyway tucked between low-rent, crumbling buildings. Nearby streetlights had long since been shattered; only faints trails of subdued moonlight reached the tight space. Black, gummy mildew spread over the bricks adorning the walls, and discarded needles littered the asphalt. The stench of human feces and the burned plastic odor of methamphetamine smoke tainted the trapped air.

A swirling eddy of polluted air behind him alerted him to her presence.

"Victoria," he hissed, whirling on his heel in a blur.

"James," her lilting voice called in return. Instantly, she was by his side, her slender fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw.

He leaned in to her, inhaling as he ran his nose along the exposed expanse of her neck. "I see that you were quite the successful girl," he growled against her throat. "Tell me everything."

"More than you realize," she purred. "You have chosen wisely. The girl's blood appeals to him beyond your wildest imaginings. He is crazed with bloodlust for her. He will surely destroy her himself."

His crimson eyes gleamed in excitement, and his fingers roughly kneaded the granite skin covering her hips. "Were you able to observe him?"

Her long spirals of hair tickled his skin as she whispered into his ear, "From afar. The day following the delivery, he drove here, to Seattle, to meet with his family's investigator."

"Of course, he would need assistance. I was shocked that he found your courier so quickly. But no, he resorted to using his precious _humans_," James spat in revulsion.

Victoria's hands palmed his face as she kissed the corner of his mouth. "Yes, when I returned to the man this morning, I was surprised to find your scent there, not to mention his body. Did he provide you sport, husband?"

He threw his head back, laughing loudly, "When ever are humans real sport? Regardless, he satiated my thirst."

Pulling her torso against his chest, James breathed, "Where did he find her?"

The sweet perfume of her icy breath washed over his skin. "In town. It took him hours. I expected that he would locate her much sooner, considering your description of his gifts. Nevertheless, he found her."

Her tongue licked a path along his neck to his ear. Murmuring against moistened skin, she murmured, "If it were not for the misfortunate interruption of a logging truck, your _competition_ would be over. The moment he caught her scent, he lost himself."

James's breath sucked through pursed lips as she caught his earlobe between her teeth. His hands roamed her body as he hummed, "Excellent! I am pleased with you, _mate_. Laurant will arrive within a few days, and I need you to return to Forks."

A wicked glint touched his eyes, and he growled, "But for now, it has been days since I saw you last, and I crave you."

To human eyes, their movements would appear as though they were suddenly locked into a vicious battle for lives and dominance. James took her swiftly, mating her against the brick wall of the nearest building, stone body violently crashing into stone body, in a frenzy of gnashing teeth, wanton limbs, and feral grunts and snarls.

* * *

_**March 26, 2009  
6:01 am  
**__**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington **_

"Edward?" Carlisle called quietly.

Edward had been standing at the corner of the porch all night and into the morning. For hours, he stood motionless, except for the dancing locks of bronzed hair in the breeze. His eyes gazed away from the house and across the ring of surrounding woods.

He was thinking, contemplating. He had only barely escaped the temptation of the girl's call. And escape, it was rightly termed. He had had no say in the matter; animalistic instinct had overtaken his mind to the point that it was rendered useless. Edward was grateful for the fortuitous timing of the truck. For if it had not intervened, albeit unaware of its involvement, the girl would be dead and drained by this point.

He berated himself for his recklessness. He should have known, from the moment the delivery man quoted the woman's words, that James was playing with him, luring him out. _In his own town!_ he snarled.

And then, he'd carelessly walked into the damnable trap. For unbeknownst reasons, the girl's thoughts were a mystery to him, a first, and he'd allowed that intrigue to cloud over the issue at hand. He should have known something was off kilter, and he should have proceeded cautiously. But instead, he had ignored the improbability of such coincidence, and had waltzed over to the store with no forethought. And, she had almost perished because of it.

All through the night, images of russet eyes framed with thick black lashes haunted him. Even with his eyes closed, he could see her face as if it were imprinted behind his lids.

"So stupid," he grated underneath his breath.

"Son?" Carlisle asked as he silently stepped from the doorway.

Edward glanced over, and nodded in acknowledgement. "Carlisle."

"Edward, we're worried about you. Have you been out here all night? What has you so anxious? Jasper says that he can barely tolerate being in the house."

_Jasper_. In his abstraction, he had forgotten about Jasper's gifts. He cursed himself again for his oversight. _Can I do nothing right?_ he questioned himself angrily. With forced calm, he answered with half-truths, "I apologize, Carlisle. I should have thought of Jasper; it was inconsiderate of me. I've been… preoccupied."

In a distinctly human gesture, Carlisle took a deep, steadying breath, and looked up to the lightening sky. Silently, he studied the gray-pink horizon, stippled by thin, sheer clouds, debating if to say more. His youthful, angled features twisted in indecision, and his slender fingers raked through his corn silk hair.

_It's been twenty years, Edward. Another twenty years. It's that time again, isn't it?_ he asked silently, not wanting to alert listening ears. Even through the filter of thought, Edward could hear the intense anxiety and dread in his creator's tone.

Images of his battered and mangled form came unbidden, mirrored through Carlisle's eyes. Deep purple circled his closed eyes, and yellowed blue splotches covered his face and neck. Meaty chunks of pale, hard vampire flesh had been torn from his torso, leaving ragged gouges. Littering his bare flesh were crescents slices, and his limbs were blackened and warped, a stark contrast against the virgin snow. It took all of Edward's control to contain tremors of remembered pain.

Edward's eyes remained locked on the dark shadowed tree line. He could see the forest mammals racing up and down the rough brown bark. Chirping birds flitted from bow to bow. The smell of damp grass mingled with pine filled his stone lungs. He said nothing, still frozen and sucking in a breath full of clean air, attempting to calm himself from the torturous visions. After a long moment, his mind stilled, and he ducked his chin imperceptibly.

To any observer, there were no markers of conversation. Decades-long familiarity granted them minute coded signals, subtle enough that even family members rarely discerned them. They simply appeared as two men quietly sharing the early morning air.

_Will you be leaving us again? _he queried pointedly.

_Would I leave?_ Edward thought. _How could I?_ _My battle is here._ He could only hope to divert it away from town and away from his family. But for the time being, he had no choice but to remain.

Carlisle barely contained his incredulity when Edward's eyes darted to the side, a negative.

_I don't understand, Edward. _

Edward shifted his honeyed gaze to his maker's, and softly pleaded, "I can't, Carlisle." His head bowed, showing his shame at his deception.

_Very well. I told you before that I would not press you. But please, reconsider. Please let me, let your family help lift whatever burden it is that you bear._

He returned his focus to the forest, now a muted green in the pale morning sun. Edward lied, "I'll think about it. Thank you."

_Edward, do what you need to do. Go where you need to go. I'll take care of the rest of family when they ask. We will not interfere unless you request it, which I hope you will. Regardless, please, do not allow yourself to be harmed as you did once before. I don't think I can handle that again. I'm certain Esme cannot._

Carlisle shoulders lifted as he inhaled, and forced a smile. In a louder voice, one loud enough that his family's vampire hearing could easily detect, he said cheerfully, "Well, I'm off to the hospital. Dr. Gerandy is out again, and I've agreed to the double shift."

As soon as his father's black sedan was out of sight, Edward was running. He darted between the trees and craggy rocks scattered across the forest floor. He sailed through the air, feet barely touching the ground. He ran as swiftly as he ever had, leaping over downed trunks and flying between the reaching branches. The wind whipped and whistled across the cartilage of his ears. His skin tingled as his hair plastered to his scalp.

Within minutes, he reached the edge of the sleepy town. Slowing to a humanly paced walk, he stepped out from between two large firs to the road. Looking around and seeing no one, he treaded the muddied sidewalk into town to the rickety bench he'd occupied the day before.

As he'd watched the night turn to day from his family's front porch, Edward had concluded that to save this girl, he had to overcome his own bloodlust for her. There was no possible way around that. He was certain that James was expecting him to destroy her himself, and in effect, handing him the ultimate victory, a fight won by forfeiture, by admittance of common evil.

But he would not give in so easily. He had to find a way to deal with this exotic creature, and he had to do it fast. As with any drug or intoxicating substance, Edward surmised that he had a choice between two disparate courses of action. He could either avoid her blood altogether or he could attempt to build a tolerance to her. The first option was unacceptable as he could not protect her and avoid her simultaneously. The girl would die, and he would suffer decades, if not centuries, of guilt. The last images of Nicole's wide eyes would never leave him. He did not think he could stomach this particular girl's eyes staring at him through eternity. The second option was risky, and could still end with her blood on his hands. He was uncertain if it were even possible to build up a tolerance to the strength of her siren call. When James had written 'her blood sings,' he could not have been more accurate.

He knew his answer. He had to attempt it. It was still early, and only a handful of people walked the streets. Inspiration suddenly dawned; the store would not open for another two hours. Resolute, he lifted himself from the worn slats of the bench, and quickly found his way to the rear of Newton's store. The metal alleyway door was locked, so his eyes scanned upward, looking for an alternate entry point, one that would not alert the storeowners to intrusion. To his good fortune, a second story window was slightly ajar.

With an effortless leap, Edward found himself hanging one handed to the generous overhang above the white washed window. His long arm extended out, and his fingers tucked between the window frame and sill. In a single motion, the window lifted and his body vaulted inside.

Edward silently stepped through the small office. His eyes quickly swept the space, noting the scattering of paperwork and order forms. Hints of _her_ invaded his nostrils. She had been here: not for long, but her scent still marked the air. Berries mixed with freesia, an intoxicating concoction, led him out of the room, through a short, carpeted hall, and then, down the stairs to the store.

With every step, the tickle in his throat flamed hotter. By the bottom step, he was on fire, a burning, ashen pile. His eyes blackened, despite his feeding frenzy the night before, and his body shook in bloodlust. She was everywhere; her scent coated every surface in the store. He ran his nose along an old broom handle. _Her hands had been here_, he thought wildly. His tongue darted out and licked the length of the handle, tasting the oils she unknowingly left behind.

His eyes darted to a shelf underneath the cash register. A dog-eared paperback with a broken binding captured his interest. It was nothing but a back pocket anthology of British poetry, verses by Wordsworth, Shelley, and Keats. The pages were soaked with her perfume.

Vicious growls erupted from his chest, and his sight flooded with red. His mind fought desperately to maintain in control. Behind the curtain of red, images of the girl flashed, reminding him of his purpose

His eyes clenched shut, and he buried his face between the pages, sucking in mouthfuls of her precious aroma. Flames licked his tongue, flames so intense they could only be rivaled by the fire of transformation. But, he continued to inhale her, forcing his body to yield to his mind.

After endless minutes, other thoughts invaded him, alerting him to Mrs. Newton's arrival. He wrenched himself from the fiery rapture of the girl's scent. He had to leave, immediately. He knew the smell of _her_ coupled with the wet smacking of Mrs. Newton's pulse would be too much to bear, a dangerous and potentially deadly combination. His breathing stopped as a precaution.

_I hope she locked up. What, with that murderer on the loose! A murderer in Hoquiam! _

Instantly, he was back in the small office upstairs and climbing out of the window. He dropped down, and landed with a muffled thud on the compacted mud below. He raced back to his bench, and settled himself, attempting casual aloofness in his demeanor.

It was not until he glanced down at his hands did he realize that he had taken the girl's – _Bella's_, he corrected – book with him. Tentatively, he sniffed the air, and the flames assaulted him yet again. His senses sharpened, and his eyes narrowed and swept his surroundings. Beams of light filtered through thick clouds, illuminating the street. Diamond-like chips of rock embedded in asphalt reflected rainbows. Voices attacked his mind, and the disjointed streams of consciousness hummed like white noise. Smells of frying bacon and turpentine tainted the divine perfume of the girl.

For the remainder of the morning, Edward warred with himself; routinely taking small gulps of air, forcing his throat to burn. The fire had not waned, but he found that through the rabid, primal urges, he could reason and he could think. For the first time in days, he felt a glimmer of hope.

By mid afternoon, he'd found the courage to reassume his hidden guard across the street from the store. For hours, Edward watched her through the glass, observed her movements, and listened to her speak. Her quiet voice came to his ears as soft peals of music.

She was unconsciously beautiful. Her long mane of hair was swept up in a neat twist and clip, exposing an alabaster span of neck and shoulder. When he looked carefully, even through the dirtied and scratched plate glass, he could see the pale blue veins underneath her translucent skin.

Her wide, dark eyes sparkled and hinted at intelligence and depth. And when she spoke, her words proved her eyes correct. She was clever, kind, and self-effacing. The longer he watched her, the stronger his desires were to speak to her himself, to meet her.

Edward realized that interacting with her at this point was not feasible. He would have to soon, but he had to acclimate himself to her. For the moment, he contented himself with observing her from afar and huffing her scent from the tattered pages of her book.

* * *

_**July 12, 1969  
**__**3:32 am  
**__**A deserted parking deck, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**_

He clutched the woman's hand too tightly, desperately trying to reassure her of her safety. Her vividly colored clothing was torn and soiled, but her prone body, folded on the rough concrete, was thankfully unbroken. She would be bruised and in pain, but she was alive. If Edward had any say whatsoever in the matter, she would continue to live, unhindered by the torment to which she had been subjected.

Her breaths came in sharp, painful rasps; she was hyperventilating. She had seen him, and she recognized him for what he was. He had had no other option but to reveal his inhuman nature to her.

Her feeble and frail fingers pawed at his face in disbelief, timidly trailing the stone lines of his jaw.

"But you are just a boy!" she cried. "Your skin, it is so very cold. You're freezing, but it is ninety-five degrees. You feel like death incarnate."

She was closer to the truth than she could have ever imagined. Her mind skittered and spun, leaving him with only garbled words to differentiate. Her eyes opened and snapped shut again.

_Cold…beautiful…too beautiful… a boy…unnatural…so fast…pale and cold…just like the other one!_

Her breathing became erratic and fitful, filled with keening whimpers, and a tear escaped her lashes. The thundering of her heart resounded and bounced off of the cement floor. The woman's frame shook, even as he gently stroked her blanched cheeks in attempts to soothe her. She was indisputably terrified of him, recognizing that he and James were of the same kind and that their kind could not be human.

But James had made a mistake this time. In his all-consuming arrogance and quest for misplaced revenge, he had gone too far. He had selected this victim out of bold overconfidence, and he had chosen poorly. He meant to drive Edward to careless madness. Instead, he had ignited quiet, calculating fury.

With her shock of bronze-red hair and bright green eyes, she could have been Edward's human sister or his mother. While her scent was alluring, it burned him no more than any other human with whom he regularly interacted. He was not blinded by any bloodlust. When he looked down at her quaking form, he felt the pangs of long-lost human nostalgia. These warm, unfamiliar emotions were quickly eclipsed, however, by anger and fierce protectiveness. When James had called her 'Elizabeth,' the name of Edward's human mother, Edward had nearly come unhinged. Their battle suddenly became far more than James's vengeful quest; it was now a personal war to the utmost degree.

"Elizabeth, please, I will not hurt you. I'm here to take you from this place. I'm going to take you home," Edward whispered softly in her ear.

"I don't think that will be happening today, Cullen," James's voice spat from behind him.

"Though, I must say, Edward, that you have thoroughly impressed me with your wrath this round. Truthfully, I didn't expect you come out to play at all, considering the last time. You actually killed one of my coven! Impressive, indeed!"

Edward released the woman's hand, and rose. Through clenched teeth, he grated, "You will not have her, James. Over my burning body and pile of ashes, you will not harm this woman."

Like the viper before the strike, Edward stood deathly still. His pale form glowed against the black of his clothing. His amber eyes darkened in fury, and his hands curled into rigid talons in anticipation. As he flexed, the corded muscles of his forearms glimmered and shone in the harsh light of the garage.

A feral snarl exploded from deep inside of his chest, and like lightning, he sprang. His coiled fingers wrapped around James's throat as his teeth tore mouthfuls of flesh.

They tumbled to the ground in tangle of arms and legs. Their entwined bodies rolled across the cement, teeth gnashing and snapping. James growled ferociously, and his fists suddenly shot out, connecting with Edward's torso with massive force.

Edward felt James's vice grip tightening around his arm, and abruptly, he felt his body soaring through the air, and then crashing into a nearby car. The metallic screeching of the impact shot through the airspace, echoing off the cement pillars and walls.

Instantly, he was on his feet and charging. Their bodies collided in mid air in a thunderous boom of stone hitting stone. They fell and hit the ground, sending splintering cracks across the concrete. The small space was filled with sounds of shrieking and roars as Edward's teeth once again found purchase. Inhuman wails and the smashing of metal resonated and reverberated though his body. With primal rage, he ripped James's arms from their sockets.

Without warning, his body was flung from James's. He hurtled headlong into the nearby stairwell, smashing through a foot of poured cement and rebar. Concrete crumbled, and he was showered with a rain of dust and rock. Shaking his head, Edward looked up just in time to see a flash of orange-red blurring in retreat with James in tow.

"Damn it!" he roared. He was torn, uncertain of what he should do. He could easily chase James and his fire-haired companion. His speed was unequivocal; he could finish this. But there could be others, waiting. He could not risk leaving the woman alone and undefended. He would have to settle for hunting James down later.

He found the woman, Elizabeth, curled into a tight ball in the corner of the garage. Her mind was uncontrolled and wild. Her body shuddered in brutal wrenching jerks. Acid smelling bile stained her shirt and her lips. Her quivering fingers were knotted in her hair and she was pulling at her scalp.

Edward looked down at her shivering form, and he felt a welling of sympathy and pity. While she would live, he wasn't sure if the human mind was capable of recovering from such graphic violence. She had seen a vampire tear the flesh and limbs from another. She had heard the sounds of monsters colliding and shrieking. He lifted her body carefully, trying not to jostle her. He whispered soothing words into her hair, and then hummed her to sleep as he carried her to a waiting car.

Over the several next days, Edward watched over the woman, in part to ensure James's withdrawal, but also to determine if she would recover from her trauma. As he observed her, he marveled at how remarkably the human mind worked and functioned.

Those first days, Elizabeth rocked and cried, cowering behind locked doors. She was incapable of fending for herself, so Edward bathed and fed her in her catatonic state. He relived her torture over and over through her eyes, as her mind existed only in a frozen circuit of horror. But gradually, over weeks, her subconscious took over and began shielding and protecting her from the events that had taken place. By and by, her vivid memories turned to vague thoughts and notions, and then finally existed only in her dreams.

As she healed, Edward slowly removed himself from her life. He settled on observing and guarding her from afar, allowing her to return to her life as it was before it had been invaded and assaulted by myth. Three months after returning her to her home and confident that she could and would survive on her own, he finally bid her farewell and turned homeward.


	8. Introduction

_**March 27, 2009  
9:33 am  
Just outside of Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

Edward propped himself against the faded green slats of the vacant shop. Aided by the dark denim of his trousers and the deep charcoal of his sweater, he melded into the shadowy recesses with little difficulty. From this vantage, he could observe unnoticed and obscured, hidden under the worn and tattered awning. From here, he had a clear, unobstructed view into Newton's. He surmised that the majority of the girl's work duties would be carried out in the front section of the store in his direct line of sight.

He still carried the girl's book of poetry, and every minute on the mark, Edward pulled the book to his nose and sucked in her otherworldly scent, purposefully scorching his throat. After more than twelve hours of near-constant exposure to her scent, he found that, ever so slightly, he was becoming desensitized. While his throat burned and clawed agonizingly, for the most part, his mind maintained some semblance of control. He was unsure if it would be enough to allow him to be near her. Edward prayed that there would not be a repeat of his shameful behavior two days prior.

It had finally stopped raining. For a moment, the ever-present grey clouds parted, and beams of sunlight reflected and refracted off of the wet pavement. Vibrant pastel swirls of residual motor oil gleamed against the harsh black asphalt. A hundred different colors, varying shades of greens, pinks, and oranges, held his gaze. His nostrils flared and were filled with the thick odor of smoked sausage and fried potatoes drifting from the diner three blocks away. Over the noise of passing automobiles, the high-pitched voices of toddlers laughing and squealing floated across the breeze.

The sidewalks were sparsely populated; the majority of the town's residents had already risen and began their typical workday. The few that walked by took note of him only in passing, believing him to be waiting on a friend or, perhaps, a family member.

At nine-forty five, the thunderous roar of an ancient truck filled the air. His body tensed, and he became utterly still. Turning his head toward the approaching vehicle, his jaw locked, and he immediately stopped his breathing.

Her truck slowly came into view. He saw the girl perched behind the wheel, wide-eyed and pale. Her knuckles were stretched white around the thin, leather-wrapped steering wheel. To Edward's eyes, she appeared as though she was nervous or frightened. He probed for her mind in vain. Frustratingly, she remained a mental mute. While he could see that she was anxious, he did not understand why.

As she approached, his mind was wrenched from his puzzlement over her facial expression. He had a larger issue to contend with. The dull red behemoth was not turning into the back parking area as he had anticipated it would; instead, it was slowing to a halt, only yards from him. She would walk directly in front of him. Edward suddenly panicked. _This isn't right!_ he thought. _She parks in the back!_

His mind raced, debating on the best course of action. He could run; there was no doubt that he could flee, and she would probably never realize that anyone had been there. Or, he could remain, and he could force his body into submission. But he was painfully uncertain of his control. He thought back to James's note; he had to hurry if he were to save her. Considering his dwindling time frame, he chose the more dangerous path.

The old brakes scratched and squeaked as she parked in a nearby parking space. He waited anxiously for her to exit, hoping that she would somehow veer from his hiding spot in her route to the store. He clamped his mouth shut, willing his body to yield. As her gripped the wooden siding slat behind him, he took one last deep breath.

After what seemed like hours, her door swung open with a sharp creak. The girl quickly hopped out, splashing her feet into a shallow puddle. He almost chuckled when he heard her whispered curse of irritation.

She was in a hurry, perhaps running late. With short, clipped steps, she bounded away from her truck and headed straight toward him. He forced his stiff body into a seemingly relaxed pose. With conscious effort, Edward tore his eyes from her nearing form, and focused his gaze down the street.

For those few seconds, time slowed. The rubber soles of her sneakers shuffled and scraped against the rough concrete sidewalk. He could hear the faint rustling of her fitted jeans. Her quiet breaths echoed down the street and in his ears.

From his periphery, he watched her. Her russet eyes were animated and unlike any other brown eyes he'd seen, they held stunning depth. Her lips were a soft, delicate pink and were settled into a thin, straight line. She looked tired and troubled, as if she hadn't slept well. Her thick, dark hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail, exposing a long expanse of flawless, pale skin that vanished under a deep blue blouse. Edward clenched his eyes shut for just a moment, trying to ignore the thin veil of her skin and the pulsing beneath.

_Casual_, he chanted. Edward jerked his eyes open, summoning all of his self control to maintain his nonchalant façade and to not attack her. Her face was angled to the store as she neared. She hadn't noticed him there; his position had not yet been compromised.

Her heartbeat cracked him like a whip. With every wet thud, it felt as though his body was being jolted with electricity. The beat of her heart trembled and rung all through his limbs. It was almost too much to bear. Venom coated his teeth and dripped down his burning throat. He didn't dare to breathe, but he could not suppress a soft groan of want from escaping from between his compressed lips. He prayed that her hearing did not detect it.

Without warning, just as she was passing by, her head whipped around. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. In that moment, Edward saw her expression alter. Her eyes widened in surprise, and a sharp gasp escaped her suddenly parted lips. Her gait faltered, and he was instantly terrified that she would stop and speak. Her cheeks flushed a delicious bright pink, and the whip cracked again as her heart rate stepped up in time.

_Was she afraid?_ he questioned wildly. Never before had he wanted to know someone else's thoughts so badly. Quickly, he broke their gaze, averting his eyes down to the coarse sidewalk.

As his eyes pulled from hers, she started. Her feet abruptly turned perpendicular, and she scurried away from him, across the street to the store. Hastily, she unlocked the front entry, and darted inside.

Through the front glass, he watched her disappear to the back portion of the building. His body finally loosened, and his hands came up, roughly raking through his bronze hair. Looking down at the wood siding behind him, he saw gaping holes arranged in the shape of a hand where his fingers had tensed. He quickly gripped the slats again, mangling the damage such that no shape was discernable. Maintaining anonymity was his family's cardinal rule.

Tentatively, he sampled the air. Her delectable scent seared into him, still inexplicably strong, despite the continual breeze. His eyes squinted in shock at the tight flaming sensations rippling down his tongue and his throat. His face contorted as he battled to control his thirst, and his fingers tugged at his hair in frustration. Edward's body wanted nothing more than to sprint into that building after her, and to suck her dry. He cursed his thirst, and he cursed the girl's ambrosial blood. More than anything, he cursed James.

* * *

_**March 27, 2009  
10:03 am  
Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

She raced through the store, heading straight to the back. Her face flamed red as her mind raced through her encounter. She was unnerved, and her stomached churned in anxiety.

_Who was that?_ Bella questioned silently. _Maybe he is waiting for the store to open. Why was he standing by himself across the street? _She had certainly never seen him before. _Or had she? _She thought that she would have remembered that face anywhere.

She'd been running late, or later than she'd have liked. Like so many nights in the past three months, sleep had been fitful and full of nightmares. Around three in the morning, her mind had finally slowed, and allowed her to rest peacefully. A few hours later, the alarm had come too quickly, and she had unknowingly pressed the snooze button too many times. She dressed in minutes, and sped out the door, forgoing breakfast. She had always been punctual, and being late for work in her first week was something that she would not tolerate of herself.

The roads had been slick with washed out mud from the previous night's downpour, and her truck's tires were not designed for such conditions. To Bella's frustration, she had to drive slower than normal, thus exacerbating her tardiness. Trying to make up for the lost time, coming into town, she eyed an open parking spot just in front of the store, and chose to park there rather than the back parking lot.

As Bella walked down the uneven sidewalk toward the store, she had noted how few people were out and about. In fact, she only could see three or four individuals, and they were several blocks away, lounging and smoking outside of the diner.

She had heard a low rumble as she passed by the empty building across the street from Newton's. At the unexpected sound, her head had jerked to the left, only for her eyes to be drawn directly to the eyes of another individual leaning against the wall. For a flash of a second, they had stared at one another, unspeaking.

He was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen. _He was more than handsome_, she corrected. _He was beautiful_. She could not discern his age; on the surface he looked to be maybe twenty, but his eyes and posture spoke of knowledge and a maturity that a twenty year old could never possess. He was so still, as if he were frozen in place.

His face was angular and perfectly symmetrical; it looked almost as if it belonged to a Grecian statue and had been chiseled out of perfect marble. His ancient eyes were like dark honeyed amber. His skin was faultless and pale white, lighter than hers. Underneath his strangely colored eyes, she saw faint purplish bruises, almost as if he'd forgone a night's sleep. His hair was wild and tangled, and was the most the most unusual shade of copper.

He had looked as if he were afraid or in pain. His lips had been pressed firmly together in a taut frown, and his jaw line was angled sharply, as if his teeth were biting into something hard. She had noticed that his forehead was rumpled and his thick brows were tilted downward. For just that moment, Bella had had the inexplicable urge to reach out to him and soothe him.

Just as she'd been forming the words she could say to him, his eyes shifted down to the ground, breaking their gaze. She had felt embarrassed of her staring; the man did not seem as if he wanted company. Not wanting him to see her blush, she'd turned on her heel and sped across the street to the store.

As she hurried through the motions of opening up the shop, she had been unable to shake the nagging suspicion that she had indeed seen this man before. Something about him looked… _familiar?_

Bella ran through people that she'd met since moving to Forks. Admittedly, the first few months that she had lived with her father were a blur to her; she wondered if perhaps she had ran across him during that time. But she didn't think that was the case.

Images of two other people suddenly flashed across her memory – Alice and Jasper, the two other new people in town that she had met just two days prior. Much in the way that they looked alike, so did this new man. Their complexions were identical, pale and chalky, like death warmed over. Their features were angular and flawless. And finally, their eyes; all three shared that odd shade of ocher. Before these three individuals, she had never seen another soul with that particular color of eyes

She recalled that Alice had mentioned a brother after all. Confidently, she concluded that this man was the very brother about whom Alice had asked. Bella recalled, _She__ had asked about whether or not her brother had come into the store._ At the time, Bella hadn't noticed, but now, as she replayed their conversation, she realized that Alice had seemed nervous, or hesitant to mention him.

At two minutes past ten, she unlocked the front entry. As she flipped over the closed sign, she stole a glance through the front window. Shocked, Bella noted that he – Alice's brother, as he was now called in her head – was still standing there under the awning. Even from her distant vantage, she could see that his stance had not altered. His hands were hidden in the pockets of his jeans, and his shoulders were stiff. Although he was leaning against the building, he didn't look comfortable; he looked tense and on edge. More importantly, however, Bella realized that he was staring directly through the glass at her.

Her heart sputtered and she gasped, surprised and a little frightened by the intensity of the situation. She felt the heat rise to her face, and abruptly darted and hid behind a large standing of kayaks. Out of his sight, she dry washed her face, trying to calm her red cheeks as well as her accelerated heart rate. _What is he looking at? Why is he just standing there?_ she pondered.

After a few moments of measured breathing and mental exercises, she stepped from behind the display and made a showing of straightening shelves as she walked to the cashier position near the back of the store.

By ten-thirty, a smattering of customers began steadily trickling in. Bella was grateful for the distraction, and she threw herself wholeheartedly into her new sales job. Despite knowing little about the sporting goods industry, she had spent the last few days pouring over all of the displays, reading reviews, and acclimating herself to the lingo. She knew where every item was stored, and for the most part, understood what the supplies were used for.

The day prior she had rearranged several of the displays, and she had spent a considerable amount of time organizing the back shelves. As she moved through the store, she felt some measure of ownership and pride. The main room was decorated with large mountain lake prints and wrought iron and copper accents. The wide, wooden floor planks and the dark green walls with paneled trim looked rustic and outdoorsy. Stacks of woolen goods were folded neatly, and racks of colorful North Face rain gear brightened the space. The store smelled clean and masculine, a mixture of heavy canvas, citronella, and wood polish. It felt inviting, warm, and comfortable.

While working at Newton's was far cry from her life as a university student, she found the atmosphere there and the customer interaction satisfying after the months of little human contact. In a few hours, she'd met more people than she had in weeks of living with her father. It was refreshing and she felt useful. For the most part, the men, and the occasional woman, were cordial and patient with her. More than one older gentleman even asked her if she would like to meet his grandson. Bella's response was always a laugh and a polite decline. As she smiled and joked with the patrons, thoughts of the bronze haired man slipped to the back of her consciousness.

During a lull, her mind flicked back to the man across the street. Curious, she craned her neck, and quickly looked though the window.

"Still here. What is he doing?" she muttered quietly. This man was an enigma. He'd been standing outside of the store for over three hours, and from what Bella could discern, he hadn't moved an inch. She debated furiously as whether or not she should ignore the man or walk across the street and ask him why he was there. But she did neither; instead, she remained inside, and when possible, darted her eyes to the building across the street. He reminded her of a soldier at a post, never moving, never showing any sign of relenting his position.

Another wave of people filtered through around lunch, and again, Bella found that she was caught up in chatting with customers and assisting them in finding the supplies they needed.

She was searching through a thick, glossy catalogue, trying to locate a particular pair of boots that a customer had requested when she heard the tinkling of the doorbell, alerting her to a new visitor. As she glanced up to greet, she froze, mouth agape.

The bronze-haired man from across the street stood in the threshold. The door was still open, held by a dark grey fabric covered arm. His other hand was nervously fingering through his messy locks. But his face was what captured her attention. She knew the look that she'd seen that morning. He _was_ in pain. But she could not fathom why or what it was that was causing his suffering. Before she could speak, however, he spun from the door, and he rushed back across the street to _his_ spot against the opposing building.

Bella's stomach flipped and flopped as she pondered his behavior. She did not understand him nor what he was doing in the least. When their eyes had met, it felt like her hair had stood on end. Her breathing had hiked, and again, her heart had beaten so rapidly it felt as though it had was trying to climb out from her chest. She had the distinct impression that he wanted to speak with her, but for whatever reason would, or could, not do so.

With frayed nerves, she returned to her task. Her fingers shook as the pages turned, and her breath came in quick gasps. _Was she frightened? Did she fear this man?_ her mind asked. She didn't think that what she felt was fear. She was certainly startled, and was very much intrigued by him. There was something else, however, to which she could not put a name.

An hour later, she had given up on casual pretense. Instead of ignoring the window, she pointedly looked out of it regularly, purposefully lingering and staring toward the building across the street. Customers were only occasional, and the few that ventured in, left quickly. As she'd spent the day before straightening and cleaning, there was little for Bella to do other than watch the front glass.

She spent the time hypothesizing about the strange man across the street. She was still certain that he was related to Alice and Jasper. The similarities were too striking and unique. _Perhaps he was sick? Or maybe he was simply shy?_ she mused. _But why was he in such pain? From his expression, he looked to be in agony. _

Interrupted again from her abstraction by tinkling bells, her head lifted instantly to the direction of the front door. _My ghostly guard has returned, _she thought silently with a soft chuckle. Bella maintained careful control over her features. Her lips formed a small, kind smile, meant to be reassuring. She did not move from her spot, afraid that the man would run again.

His face still appeared as if he were in pain, but he looked resigned or determined for some reason or another. From the back of the room, she could see his lips were still mashed together in a frown and his eyes were tight and weary.

Carefully, he held the door as the spring pulled it closed, and then, cautiously began walking toward her. He walked slowly, eyes glued to the floor in front of him. Bella noted that his hands were curled into tight fists, and his jaw had still not relaxed. She was confused as she felt adrenaline rush through her veins. A small part of her was terrified, but the larger part of her was curious and intrigued.

The bronze haired man stopped approximately ten feet from her and looked up. Her lips pursed and her brow furrowed as she took in his appearance. Her first conclusion that morning had been more right than she'd realized. This man was inhumanly beautiful. His eyes were dark, darker than she recalled seeing. His skin was smooth porcelain, ghostly white and without blemish. Her fingers twitched at the desire to run them through his nest of tangled hair. In the soft glow of the overhead light, she could see reds, browns, blondes, and henna all woven together.

His voice rang out, soft, lilting, and musical, "Hello. I'm Edward. Edward Cullen. You must be Bella Swan." His voice sounded like velvet or silk. She never heard a male's voice sound like that. Between his voice and his appearance, her mind was clouded and hazy.

"You've been standing there. All day," she murmured, flustered by the butterflies assaulting her stomach. _And how did he know her name?_ she realized.

His forehead creased, and she saw him swallow thickly. "Yes. I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable."

"How did you know my name?" she asked quickly. "I, I mean, everybody calls me Isabella. How did you know to call me Bella?"

His eyes widened, and then tightened. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and she could see cords of muscle flex and twist along his forearms. He looked around the room, seemingly trying to summon an answer to her query.

"My sister," he rushed. "I believe you met my sister, Alice, the other day. She, she told me."

_Of course_, Bella thought. That made sense. _But he still didn't explain why he'd been standing across the street watching her for more than six hours. _

She felt her lip begin to quiver as she began to ask again. She flushed in a mixture of nerves and embarrassment. The man's – Edward's – face transformed. He was nearly shaking and his eyes were wild and almost black.

Suddenly, he whispered, his musical voice sounding almost desperate, "I'm sorry, Bella, I have to leave now." And at that, he whipped around and walked almost too quickly out of the store.


	9. Confrontation

_**March 28, 2009  
8:31 am  
Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

Lying on the hard wooden planks of Newton's front storeroom, Edward pondered the difficulty and complexity of the situation with the girl – Isabella, or _Bella_. In his desperation to overcome the hold the girl's blood had over him, he'd lain there on the floor in the center of the shop all evening and then, all through the night, sucking down her scent and forcing his throat to burn. Constant exposure to her fragrance, he had found, somehow lessened the discomfort, and he hoped that it would allow him to interact with her in some tangible manner. The prior day's efforts had proven that point.

Regardless, never having experienced anything like it in all of his near century of immortality, Edward was still stunned by the strength and force of the call of her blood. It literally sang to him; whenever he was near her, his entire being vibrated and hummed with the rhythm of her pumping heart. It was truly a siren, a lilting, seductive beckoning call to which his body was involuntarily drawn. He had heard of _singers_ before, but experiencing the effect first-hand was far more all-encompassing than merely reliving it through thoughts of others. If his self-control were any less, if he had not been denying his thirst for so many years, his eyes would have glowed red the moment her scent touched him.

What shocked Edward the most about this girl was not the raging bloodlust, however; _that_, he could apprehend to a point. After all, he had preyed on humans before, and his throat had known the soothing satiation that only human blood could provide. Instead, what bewildered him beyond belief were the _other_ urges and reactions this particular girl elicited from him. His body and mind were suffering through far more complex sensations than simple bloodlust. Where he had felt responsibility for the lives of the other victims of James's sport, even fury with Elizabeth, they were simply humans, humans that needed to be sheltered from the existence of his kind. His reactions to those women were primarily borne from the guilt of them having been wrongfully drawn into the world of monsters and the monsters' sadistic games of retribution. But what he was experiencing with this girl…_was more_. He was overwhelmed by strange protectiveness and possessiveness. This girl was _his_.

Her scent clung to everything, the walls, the countertop, the doorknobs, the thick cotton sweaters hanging on the racks. Her saturated bouquet was inescapable. To Edward, it was maddening, yet in the same breath, enthralling. While a large part of him still wanted to eat her, to suck her dry, to drain every last drop of her sweet ambrosia, another not insignificant part of him wanted to sprint her away and keep her for all time. _Or, for at least all of _her_ time, _he mentally corrected. The idea of wasting her precious elixir was repulsive to the point of being intolerable. She was a gift to savor and to cherish, not to devour.

From where these longings stemmed, Edward could not fathom. He'd never known such urges before, and they frightened him. If, by some miracle, he were to save her from James, were there any guarantees that she would be safe from him? If he did not kill her, could he allow her to go on with her life, unhindered? Would he be forever tempted and trapped by her blood, despite any distance that he put between them? Moreover, could he ever leave her alone? He did not think so.

For the time being, however, more pressing matters needed his attention; he had to reach a point where he could speak with her in close proximity. The day prior had been, in Edward's eyes, a substantial leap forward in this regard, but it was not enough. After gazing at her for hours on end, and then a few false starts, he had spoken with her. He had been exceptionally cautious, holding his breath for the entirety of their brief conversation. He had hoped to speak with her further, but for some unbeknownst reason, she had blushed. He hadn't been prepared for that; the sight of her translucent skin filling with the very nectar that drove him to near insanity was simply too much. The wet smacking of her pulse had not helped matters.

More than once that night, he had battled with curious desires to visit the girl's home. He concluded that if there were any place on this planet where he could purposefully scorch his throat, it would be there. He could only imagine how potent her fragrance would be. Fortunately, Edward's logical side won out; he rationalized that the store was an appropriate first step and that subjecting himself to a higher level of temptation would be foolish and careless. He did not rule out, however, the possibility of a later visit to her home. His mind suddenly flashed to an image of him standing in the middle of a bedroom, _her_ bedroom.

* * *

_**March 28, 2009  
8:45 am  
**__**Home of Chief Charles Swan, Forks, Washington**_

Bella's eyes widened, and her lips fell into a surprised "O" as she read the morning news. Involuntarily, her grip slackened, and her spoon dropped into the shallow cereal bowl, splashing milk on the worn table.

"_Killer Loose on the Olympic Peninsula!"_ read the smudged heading.

_Police discovered 38 year old local deliveryman, Richard Walter Harrison, of Hoquiam, Washington, yesterday evening dead in his home. Investigators said that they were treating the death as a homicide. Chief Investigator Michael Branson told reporters that the man appeared to have been violently assaulted and left for dead. Harrison was pronounced dead at the scene. No suspects have been named. _

_In related news, there are still no leads in a similar case in Port Angeles. Two, yet to be identified women, both believed to be hikers or visitors to the area, were found brutally murdered in a wooded area three miles west of Port Angeles, Washington. According to local police, the individuals were killed sometime late last week. _

_Hoquiam and Port Angeles authorities are treating these three deaths as connected. As these deaths are spread across the Peninsula, all residents are encouraged to report any suspicious behavior or individual to local police. _

As her father walked into the kitchen, her eyes ripped from the page. Immediately, Bella noticed that he was dressed in his full police uniform, including the leather-holstered gun that he rarely deemed necessary in Forks. He appeared tired; his dark eyes were flat, and Bella could see purple-gray shadows underneath, signaling that he had been up late. His brow was wrinkled and angled, and his ever-present smile had vanished. His entire demeanor exuded tension.

"Dad, did you see this?" Bella asked in a high-pitched voice, furtively pointing to the paper. While crime barely registered with her when she lived in Arizona, three vicious murders in one week on the sparsely populated Olympic Peninsula were startling and very unsettling.

With a sharp grimace, he nodded. "I'm going to be gone 'til late tonight. I've got to head over to Port Angeles. They're asking for all the help they can get," he told her.

"But, da-" she started.

Her father interrupted gruffly, "Don't you worry, Bells. I'm sure we'll catch this guy. But while I'm gone, don't go anywhere other than town, ok?"

Bella's response was a nervous bob of her head. This, her father's expressions and behavior, coupled with the words the paper obviously _didn't_ release, made her feel suddenly queasy. This was all too reminiscent of the events following her mother's death. While her death had been technically declared an accident, there were inconsistencies that still nagged at her consciousness.

Her mother's funeral had been held closed casket; according to the attending mortician, her mother's body had been too mangled for anything else. Bella barely recalled anything from those few days, but through the hazed, jumbled memories, she could still envision the man's discomfort in his explanations. It was almost as if he had more to say, or as if he didn't believe his own words. The police were no better help; the report itself had included too few details, only indicating, "DOA, Cause of death: fatal injuries due to single car accident. No alcohol detected." At the time, she had been too incapacitated by grief to comprehend or ask for further information. And lastly, even now, her dreams were haunted by the mysterious words she had overheard that night in the hospital.

_That does not happen in a damn car accident!_

Charlie looked to the door and then quickly back to Bella. His mouth twitched anxiously as he continued, "Make sure you keep your doors locked at all times and keep that pepper spray in your purse. And when you are in the house, well, you know where that shotgun is, right?"

Staring down at the white droplets of milk littering the tabletop, she returned without inflection, "Coat closet, bottom right."

He gave her tight smile and said goodbye.

* * *

_**March 28, 2009  
3:56 pm  
Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

In Edward's distraction, he hadn't recognized that Saturday would be the busiest day of the week at Newton's. With spring upon them, hikers were restocking their supplies, and waves of visitors to the Peninsula were arriving daily.

As such, Bella kept busy all day long. In fact, Edward noticed that not once did she even glance up to the window to check if he was stationed at his now-normal perch across the street. He was there, of course, as he would continue to be until he was certain that she was no longer in any danger from James or his coven.

He had escaped the perfume filled store with only moments to spare before she arrived to open the doors. This day, he decided that he could not risk another unplanned sidewalk confrontation, so he observed her arrival from the roof of the adjacent building until she had entered the store. Once he felt certain that she was inside and preoccupied, he returned to his observation point.

The weather had returned to its expected state; the sky was mottled grays and a light drizzle fell intermittently throughout the day. To his advantage, sunlight was scarce and muted, creating dark shadows in which he could effectively obscure himself. Her eyes probably could not have discerned his presence, even if she had looked up to search for him. To his confusion and frustration, he did not understand the uncomfortable welling of emotion because she _didn't_ look for him.

Because of the ongoing stream of customers, he feared that he would not have the opportunity to try to speak with her again at all. But thinking rationally, Edward concluded that it was for the best, considering the recent events on the Peninsula.

Edward had all but been ignoring any form of media since the arrival of James's letter, having been completely absorbed in only the girl. He had missed the morning news. That is, he missed it until when earlier in the morning, his mind had been ferociously assaulted on multiple fronts by the thoughts of the surrounding populace.

_Did I lock the doors? Oh, God! What if I didn't. I have to go back…_

_A killer in Port Angeles? In Hoquiam? I thought I'd escaped all this when I left Seattle…_

_Gotta run to the S&M, need more shells. The wife needs a taser…Bastard won't get far…_

The three recent gruesome murders were the only topic anyone was talking about or thinking about. The public's imagination was running rampant; dozens of imagined scenarios flickered through his mind. He saw horrid images of bloodied and beheaded corpses, nameless bodies torn and ravaged, half eaten by wildlife, women brutalized and savagely beaten, children...

In a flash, he darted from his post, purchased a newspaper from a nearby dispenser, and then, returned to read for himself. As his eyes rapidly scanned the headline and the articles, his heart sank in his chest. If it were physically possible, Edward's stomach would have emptied itself. As it was not, he dry heaved in painful, wracking sobs. Heavy, weighted guilt set in, taking him to his knees. For a long moment, his mind spun and twisted in despair.

The deliveryman, the man he had visited and himself terrorized in his haste to gain information concerning the girl, had been punished for his betrayal. With no doubt whatsoever, Edward knew that James or James's minions were present on the Peninsula, and that his allotted time was slowly dissipating. At this realization, guilt was shoved away for later pondering, and was replaced with overwhelming and calculating fury.

Seething, he watched the store for hours, senses concentrated and acute, looking for any sign of other vampires. He scanned every mind within range, searching for any indication that there was danger in Forks.

As the final customers filtered out, Edward was left with a lone individual ghosting through the racks in the store. Mrs. Newton had left early, clearly unexpectedly pleased with the competency of her new employee. Thus, only Bella remained, silent as always.

All day, he had listened to her soft-spoken voice; his finely tuned hearing could have picked it out from miles away now. Hers was a gentle, soothing voice, silken and lilting, like soft tinkling bells. Moreover, her words distinguished her amongst others in the town. She was unreasonably polite and ever humoring the elderly gentlemen that frequented the store. It was clear to Edward that Bella was not only kind; she was, simply put, _good_, undeserving of the madness being unknowingly thrust upon her. It frustrated him now, that without customers for her to interact with, he could not longer hear her.

To Edward's eyes, she appeared tired or troubled. Her limbs were heavy, and her head bowed toward the floor. Even through the dirty plate glass, he could see that her luminescent skin had waned beyond its usual pallor. Her eyes were dark and flickering with some unknown emotion, and they often wandered as she mechanically folded disheveled stacks of woolens and thermals. Her soft mouth was settled into a hard line, and her jaw was set. Again, Edward prayed, _Why her? Why can I not at least hear something!_

He glanced down the street but for a moment. As his gaze returned to the store, he started when he heard the now-engrained thundering of her heartbeat grow louder.

To his instant astonishment, Bella was determinedly stalking from the back of the store toward the front entry. As she moved, her long mahogany locks swung wildly around her face, and her expression was angry.

With a sharp shove of the glass door, she stomped across the street without bothering to look for oncoming traffic. Edward hastily retreated until his back pressed into the worn wood slats of the storefront, unsure of the right course of action. She _had_ seen him after all, and she was not pleased.

She came to an abrupt halt, a mere five feet in short of him, and a wave of her scent slammed into him. Her pale cheeks were stained scarlet, her blood temptingly pooling just under the surface of her thin skin. Her nostrils were flared, and hot breath poured out in angry pants. Thick tendrils of fragranced, sweet air tickled his skin. She looked delectable and at the same time, beautiful, like a divine, livid angel.

With arms crossed tightly across the deep plum of her blouse, her dark eyes flashed, and she demanded in a tight, curt voice, "How long have you been here?"

Edward sucked in a deep, agonizing breath. His throat flamed and burned as her intoxicating essence coated the inside of his mouth and tongue. His amber eyes flickered black as his entire being tensed. Internally, he violently warred between latching his mouth to her neck and running in fear of her. But he did neither; instead, his mind willed his body to remain standing there in her presence.

For the hundredth time in the day, he searched for her mind. _Nothing_. _Utter silence_. She was such a confounding mystery. _How could she be so transparent in her expressions, but silent in her mind?_ he questioned angrily.

"Well?" she demanded again, clearly impatient with his hesitation. Her tennis shoe tapped out an erratic, clipped rhythm against the rough concrete.

Uncharacteristically, Edward's responding expression was anxious, embarrassed even. His eyes fell to the sidewalk, partly in shame of being caught watching her, but also in an attempt to distract himself from the thudding pulse of her heart. Her heart rate was thrumming like a hummingbird's wings; he could feel the vibrations resounding through his limbs.

He quickly grasped that this confrontation was as difficult for Bella as it was for him, albeit for different reasons. He surmised that conflict was not in her nature. For her to be so bold and brash, he must have frightened her with his behavior. He was essentially stalking her, and at a time when a murderer was loose on the Peninsula. He hesitantly sipped the air. The cloying aroma told him that he was right; the tang of pumping adrenaline mingled heavily with the familiar sweetness of her blood. He immediately felt guilty for causing her distress.

Still maintaining his focus on the gravelly indentions in the sidewalk, he shrugged, and returned in quiet voice, "A while."

"What the hell do you mean 'a while'," she asked sharply.

Edward sighed, resigned to be as honest as he could, "All day."

"Why?" she inquired. Her expression flitted back and forth between fury and astonished incredulity.

"I can't explain it," he answered glumly.

"Look at me, Edward Cullen," she commanded.

He reluctantly met her gaze. Her russet irises gleamed in the shadowy recesses of the covered walkway, and it felt as though she was staring directly into his soul. Disconcerting sensations rocked his mind. Looking at her and hearing her say his name did strange, unexplainable things to him. He wanted to hear her say it again. Quickly, disgusted with his inappropriate diversion, he shoved those thoughts away for later contemplation.

Enunciating each syllable, she pressed, "Why have you been watching me? Give me one good reason why I should not call the police – my father."

Another burning gulp of air scorched his esophagus. Softly, he whispered, "Bella, I mean you no harm. I'm, I'm concerned about you. I just want to make sure that nothing happens to you. I can't explain it." As he said the words, he realized that there was no denying that he meant them. He did not want to hurt her; the more he observed her, the more painful the thought of her being damaged in any way became.

"But I don't understand. You don't know me. We've spoken for less than five minutes. Why do you care?"

"I don't know," he said simply and honestly.

She looked at him warily. It was clear that she didn't trust him or his actions. And rightly so, he recognized. She should be afraid; a complete stranger, a vampire nonetheless, was stalking her. Bella was not stupid; on the contrary, he realized. She was extremely intelligent and brave. Few humans would ever have engaged a vampire in argument, regardless whether or not they understood their nature. While she was frightened of him, she held her ground. Edward added another quality to his growing list.

"Bella, I don't mean to make you nervous. I swear that I will never hurt you."

Her eyes closed and her face tilted upward. Slowly, she said, "I- I just don't understand. I don't understand why, but I feel like I can trust you. But this is not normal. And, it frightens me. I, I would like you to leave."

"Bella!" a deep baritone called, interrupting their awkward conversation. "There you are! I've been looking for you!"

To Edward's immediate irritation, a tall, dark-skinned boy sidled up to her, and threw his arm possessively around her shoulder.

"Hey, Jake," she said with a smile. At once her expression cleared and warmed.

Not giving Edward even a polite glance, the boy continued, "Are you about ready? I'm starving."

Her smile widened, and she replied, "Just a second. Jake, this is Edward Cullen. Edward, this is my friend, Jacob Black."

Edward watched the annoyance flash across this Jacob's features. In his mind, he began sizing Edward up as competition. Jacob's jealousy was hot and vivid as he unwillingly held his hand out.

As their skin contacted, the boy's thoughts shifted, and inappropriate visions of Bella sped across the boy's mind. It took all of Edward's self control to not break the boy's bones. He happily imagined slinging this Jacob through the air and into a brick wall. He predicted that he could survive such a flight…_barely_.

"Jake, let me lock up, and I'll be ready. Your dad's going to be there with us, right?"

The boy's attention returned to Bella, again ignoring Edward. "Nope, just us," he returned with a triumphant smile, presumably directed for Edward's benefit.

Irritation again flared, but was cut short by a puzzling twitch of Bella's lips. For just a moment, as it seemed to Edward, dining alone with this boy did not please her. Regardless, her momentary lapse in expression corrected itself, and she said gently, "Ok, tell you what, Jake, I do need to close up now. So, I'll meet you over there, ok?"

Jacob's smile waned, but he replied cheerfully, "If that's what you want, Bella. I could help you close up, you know?"

"No thanks, Jake. But really, thanks for asking. I won't be long; I promise."

Once the boy was beyond earshot, her glower returned, although it appeared to be more forced than it had before. But without the mental context, Edward did not trust his perception, especially with this enigma of a woman.

"Am I to assume that you will be following me around from now on?" she asked curtly.

Edward was at a loss; if he told her the truth, she would probably turn him in to her father. And he could not permit that kind of scrutiny. He didn't want to lie to her, however. He _would be_ following her, or guarding her as he viewed it.

She sighed in exasperation, "Never mind. Look, just stop scaring me. Standing across the street from where I work all day long is not normal. Just, I don't know, come in the store or something. Maybe we can talk and you can explain exactly what you think you are protecting me from."

Again, surprised by her change in demeanor, he nodded and replied, "Thank you." Of course, Edward couldn't give her what she wished, but he was irrationally thrilled that she hadn't run away screaming.

"I'll see you around, Edward."

"Bella, just a moment. Who is that boy?" The question escaped his lips before he realized what he was asking. As soon as the words were out, he regretted them, and he began berating himself for his forwardness.

Oddly, Bella just laughed a soft, musical laugh. "Oh, Jake's just a friend of the family. Bye, Edward."

"Goodbye, Bella. I will see you soon."

As she walked away, Edward was attacked by a multitude of conflicting and confusing emotions. On one hand, despite the ripping pain in his throat, he had managed to be around the girl – Bella – for several minutes completely in control of his thirst. A surge of hope that he had not felt before filled his being. Conversely, he had wanted, no, _still wanted_ to tear that boy's spine out for his thoughts of his Bella.


	10. Conversation

_**March 31, 2009  
10:14 am  
Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

"Favorite color?" she asked.

"Brown," Edward stated quietly, his voice still melodic and velvet smooth, despite the low volume.

"What? Why brown?" Bella laughed.

"I don't know," he returned without inflection.

Bella suspected that he did, in fact, know, but instead, did not want to comment to the effect. Edward was such a riddle, a puzzling and perplexing mystery. From Bella's perspective, despite his strange behavior, he certainly seemed nice enough, and he was easily one of the most polite men she'd ever encountered. And, of course, he was incredibly good looking. So much so that during their conversations, she had to periodically remind herself to not stare at him for long periods of time. For whenever she did, it was impossible to look away. In secret delight, her heart inexplicably stuttered when she found herself caught in his gaze, and when he offered his rare, traffic-stopping, crooked smile, breathing seemed to be altogether forgotten.

On top of all of this, speaking with him reminded her of the long, nearly forgotten afternoon sessions she used to share with her professors in Arizona. He was remarkably intelligent, was well versed in her favorite literature, even the more obscure works, and his terms and expressions were fascinating. The cadences were… _off_, and his wordings were evocative of an earlier era. Edward Cullen was a complex and captivating individual. Whenever he spoke, there always seemed to be something more brewing just under the surface. It was as though he had so much to say, but for whatever reason, held himself back. If anything, these past few days had taught her just how much one could want to know another individual.

After their Saturday afternoon confrontation, it seemed that Edward had taken her request to heart. Rather than sneaking and watching her from afar, he began approaching her and engaging her in conversation.

The following Sunday, after glumly perusing her woefully scarce personal library, Bella had decided to make the short trip to the Forks Library in search of new reading material.

En route to the library, she stopped by the local grocer to pick up a few dry goods for the dinner she had planned to prepare that evening for her father. As she debated the options in the sparse pasta section, Bella heard a familiarly pitched voice clearing his throat, graciously signaling his presence. When she looked up, she saw Edward Cullen standing at the far end of the aisle with a curious half smile played across his lips. Despite his verbal warning, she still started at the sight of him, and her breath caught as his smile widened. If she'd not known better, she would have sworn that his reaction was timed just precisely with the stutter of her heart.

After a few moments of silent regard, he slowly approached her, and in a hesitant voice, politely asked if he might accompany her on her shopping trip. It was an unusual request. But then, from Bella's perspective, everything about Edward Cullen was unusual. Even though she knew better, she was too curious about the beautiful man who seemed to be so interested in her to say no. As she continued examining the store's aisles, him following at a respectful distance, they chatted about light, everyday topics.

With some prying, she learned that his family lived a few miles out of town and that they'd only arrived in Forks a few months prior. In fact, Edward had been in town but a few times. According to Edward, he'd been sent to the store by his mother to purchase ingredients for a casserole. Bella silently noted, however, that the items he carried had no place in any casserole dish she'd ever made. Actually, he seemed completely lost in the meager grocery store, almost as if he'd never set foot inside of one. It was puzzling.

After she'd paid for her items and prepared to leave, Edward's features twisted, and he seemed torn, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't decide if it was appropriate. Not quite ready to let him go, with slight trepidation, Bella asked him if he would like to accompany her to the library. Edward's response was another melting smile and an affirmative nod. At her invitation, Bella noticed that his features relaxed and lightened; she curiously wondered if his indecision had been about that very topic.

Regardless, they spent the afternoon together, quietly tucked away in the small, dimly lit town library. It was a pleasant, cozy space. The air was flavored by the smell of rich leather, musty pages, and lemony furniture polish. And then, periodically, she caught faint wisps of Edward's fragrance. His cologne was unlike any she had ever smelled before; strangely, it reminded her of sunshine and honey. Unconsciously understanding his desire for distance, she resisted the urge to lean in to study it further.

As she looked around the small room, she noticed the gilded bindings of the old books, glittering and catching the warm, yellowed light from the overhead fixtures. Normally, Bella would have been immediately drawn by their allure. But rather than investigating the contents of the shelves, she found herself completely caught up in careful and deliberate discussion with Edward. Their quietly spoken conversation ranged widely, from lighter topics to deeper, more controversial areas, ones that she'd not broached with anyone since moving to Forks.

For most of their time together, Edward seemed to be the one guiding the conversation. His never-ending questions came in rapid-fire succession in what seemed to be no order at all. He wanted to know her favorite books, her favorite movies as well as her favorite music. He wanted to know her opinions on divinity and spirituality. And then, he was endlessly curious about her studies in Arizona, and seemed genuinely interested in her intent to finish her degree in Seattle. When asked why she tended toward the Romantic era literature, Bella turned scarlet as she admitted to an affinity for old world ideals and notions. Edward's response had been an unexplainable tightening of his eyes, and she noted that his fingers curled sharply around the roughened table edge.

When he asked her about her family, she told him in a quiet, strained voice about the death of her mother. As she described the funeral, her moistened eyes fell to the chipped walnut tabletop, and her hands involuntarily twisted the worn olive cotton of her jacket. When she glanced up, she found his features settled in another grimace, though this time, it was almost as if he were angered by something. Before she could ask, however, he looked away, and muttered a soft apology for her loss.

Since most of their time was spent with Edward asking questions, Bella gathered little information about him. She did learn that he was, in fact, Alice's brother. Jasper was her spouse, and thus, his brother-in-law. There were also two other siblings, Rosalie and Emmett, also married. When Edward spoke of his family, a perceptible change came over him. He was warmer, more animated, and more forthcoming. His smile stretched across his entire face, and his hands waved as he spoke. He clearly loved his family and enjoyed their company, despite the fact that he seemed to be the odd man out. When Bella asked him about this, his eyes flickered perceptibly, and his lips pressed into a hard, forced smile. Politely, he murmured, "No, not really. It doesn't bother me as you might think it would. Of course, sometimes I can feel what you might would call lonely, but such is the way of things."

With some effort, she learned that he'd studied at Dartmouth, but again, he said very little about his time there. Based on that information, she surmised that he was perhaps a few years older than her. It was difficult to discern exactly, however, as physically, he appeared no more than twenty, but intellectually, he could have been an octogenarian.

It didn't escape her notice, that for the entirety of their conversation, Edward never stepped within five feet of her, and frequently, his expression would twist in the same expression of pain she'd seen before. When she finally pointed his reactions out, he too-casually shrugged her concern off. At one point, she thought that she heard him mumble under his breath something about 'being too perceptive.'

Overall, Bella found their time together to be an exciting, albeit peculiar, exchange. Edward was the first person she'd met in Forks with whom she felt she could truly relate. She found, that with him, time seemed to speed by. All too soon, the library was closing. As they parted ways, Edward softly asked if she would mind him visiting her at work the next day. Bella deliberated for a moment, mostly for the sake of propriety, and told him that he was welcome to visit. In truth, she did not want to let him go, and was more than pleased at the prospect of seeing him again. While she still felt unease by his behavior, her intrigue won out.

To her astonishment, the next morning, as Bella was unlocking the front entrance, Edward appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere, offering to assist her. Before she could protest his startling materialization, he'd smiled that devastating smile of his, and his honeyed eyes flickered warmly, effectively rendering her mind to mush. All she'd been able to muster was a quick bob of her slicker covered head.

Monday had been a slow day at the store, most likely the result of the torrential downpour that had been forecasted to continue through the following few days. While Bella spent the majority of the day straightening the already neat and tidy shelves, she and Edward continued their discussion from the day before.

Again, his questions came at her at a dizzying pace. She couldn't fathom why he was so interested in the menial details of her life, but he genuinely seemed to want to know things about her. When she would become embarrassed and falter over an answer, his amber eyes would flash, warring between some unknown emotion and enjoyment, and he'd pause the barrage to delve further. More than once, she found herself blushing at the ground. And each time, she would look up to find his features tense and his lips mashed together in a hard line. His reactions were perplexing, but with his nonstop inquisition, she had little time to ask.

When customers came in, the few that there were, Edward would wander about the store, feigning interest in backpacks or dry bags. Bella chuckled at his dissembling, as his dark woolen slacks, pressed white oxford button up, and fine leather shoes did not quite look the part in the rustic outfitters store.

As closing time approached, he ducked his head, and quietly asked, "Bella, would you mind too terribly if I returned tomorrow?"

"Why?" she asked. _What more could he want to know? Surely, he was bored,_ she reasoned silently.

"What do you mean, 'why,'" he returned with a confused expression. His head tilted to the side, and his long fingers raked nervously through his already disheveled bronze hair.

"Don't get me wrong, Edward. I certainly enjoy your company, but I don't understand your interest in me. I'm really fairly boring," Bella commented.

In a sincere tone, he replied, "Quite the contrary. You are one of the least 'boring' individuals I've ever encountered, Bella. Everything you do surprises me; you are absolutely fascinating."

Her breath caught at his admission. Surprised and unbelieving, Bella laughed a rich, full laugh, "Ok, Edward. Whatever you say. I suppose I'll see you tomorrow then."

Edward lips upturned at her amusement, and he murmured, "Goodbye, Bella."

Bella thought quickly, and called out as he departed, "Oh, and Edward?"

At the sound of her voice, she saw Edward quickly spin on his heel to face her. The vague image of the ephemeral white and bronze streaky blur from days ago surfaced. _Impossible_, her mind screamed.

"Yes?" he asked with a dazzling smile.

Momentarily distracted by the perturbing flitting memory, she was silent. After a second of contemplation, she recovered with a shake of her hear and continued, "Tomorrow? My turn."

"I beg your pardon?" he said with a delightfully baffled expression. Distraction shelved, Bella nearly laughed again.

"To ask the questions. You've had your time, now it's my turn."

That evening passed slowly for Bella. As she went through the motions of preparing the complicated eggplant and pasta dish she'd planned, she realized, to her own embarrassment, that she really wanted to see Edward again. As she moved about the small, yellow kitchen, images of him flooded her vision. She had so many questions for him, and she was bound and determined to get some answers from him the following day. She had certainly told him more about herself than she had ever told anyone. _What is it about him?_ she questioned.

He was so disarming, and it was so easy to speak with him. Against her own better judgment, she found herself trusting him, despite his strange, almost stalker-like behavior. But it was readily obvious that there was no malice in him toward her; in actuality, he treated her with far more respect and care than she'd ever experienced before. She'd had to snap at him on more than one occasion that day when he tried to step in and move merchandise for her. It was…_cute_ in an old fashioned kind of way. Men just did not behave that way anymore. Exceptional courtesy was one more quality to add to the pile.

Sleep was hard won that night; in place of the normal vivid and bloody nightmares of her mother's corpse, Bella, instead, dreamed strange, surreal dreams of bronze and white streaky blurs, of ambered eyes flashing to black, and of tensing jaw lines. Not surprising, she was awake well before the alarm, and was getting ready for another day at work and another day of hopefully discovering more about her mysterious new admirer.

Arriving considerably early, she hadn't expected Edward to be there. But he was. As she walked sans slicker in the never ending drizzle up to the store, she could see him there, casually leaning against dark painted slats of the storefront. Again, his breathtaking beauty struck her. His coppery locks were darkened by the rain, and were wild and windblown, almost as if he'd been running or out in a windstorm. Her fingers twitched with desire to run her fingers through them. The white marble of his complexion was flawlessly smooth, and it contrasted brightly with the jet-black of his canvas jacket. His eyes were peculiarly lighter in color than she remembered, a pale ocher, and the ever-present purplish shadows underneath had all but vanished. _How odd_, she thought. _Perhaps he simply got a good night's rest. At least one of us did. _

As he held the door for her, he muffled a quiet laugh with his free hand.

"What?" she asked curiously, as she turned to glance up at him though damp, fallen strands of hair.

"Nothing, really. I'd not have believed it, but you smell better in the rain," he replied softly. While his words were strange enough, something else was left unspoken. His expression was tense, and the lightness of his eyes had shifted to a dark molasses. His jaw flexed, reminiscent of images she'd dreamed the night before.

"I don't really know what to say to that, Edward. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted," she returned with an easy tone.

"Oh, you could say it was a compliment. Most assuredly, a compliment," he replied levelly, looking off over her head.

Not having a response, Bella continued her path to the office in the back of the store. As she went through the familiar process of opening for business, they continued their conversation from where they'd left off the day before. "My turn, remember?" she said playfully.

For the remainder of the day, she shot question after question at him, mimicking his approach of the two prior days. She quickly learned that they had a tremendous amount in common. While she disagreed with his choices in literature – she found his preferences a touch too dark and brooding for her taste – he was certainly well read. His music preferences, like hers, were eclectic and ranged from new indie bands to opera. She also learned more about his family and about how they typically moved around a lot as his father liked working in different hospitals.

"How long will you stay in Forks?" she asked with undisguised longing.

From his standard five feet away, his lips quirked in understanding as he replied, "It depends. Although, I may choose to stay in Washington longer if my family were to decide to move too soon for my liking."

* * *

_**March 31, 2009  
8:22 pm  
The Lodge Restaurant, Forks, Washington**_

"Damn that boy to the fiery pits of Hades," Edward spat as he uprooted another green sapling.

From his vantage, he had a clear view through the window of _his_ Bella and _that_ boy, Jacob Black. Edward had been none to pleased when Bella had mentioned that she was meeting the boy for dinner that evening. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to ask her to decline. But he could do no such thing; Bella would not understand his overly emotional and irrational request. If he were being honest, he could not understand it either.

For the last few days, he'd been consumed by her presence. With no small amount of pride, he had all but conquered the draw of her scent. _Not conquered, per se_, he admitted. He had, however, managed a level of proximity and duration that he would have never imagined a week prior. And he had victoriously fought back dozens of wild urges. While it never waned, the constant fire in his throat was becoming almost bearable, or at least, tolerable. But then, between the time he spent with her and his nights at Newton's, he'd been exposing himself to that wretchedly divine scent almost continuously.

Sitting with her in that library had been almost too much. The space was too small, too cramped, and her bouquet mingled so pleasantly with fragrant leather oils of the antique books. But, he _had_ managed, and he had been rewarded with a wealth of information concerning the girl. Her quiet mind was impossibly alluring; she was no shallow college co-ed, nor was she condescending in her intelligence. Bella could hold her own with charm and grace in any intellectual debate, especially those involving literature and history. For the first time in his existence, he found himself completely and utterly drawn into conversation with someone outside of his family.

Unfortunately, the more he learned, the deeper down the proverbial rabbit hole he found himself. And the more involved with her he allowed himself to be, the more painful the thought of losing her became. By the time he'd spent two whole days with her in her store, he realized that he was irrevocably chained to this girl, this fragile human girl. If he were to fail and not destroy James, he was not sure how his existence would be impacted, knowing this girl no longer breathed.

At the moment, however, Edward's focus was completely on another, unexpected and new issue. The boy's thoughts were lewd as usual. His eyes had immediately drawn to the deep v-cut of her wine colored blouse, and his mind had spun a hundred vulgar scenarios in which he'd removed her garments. Admittedly, the boy was not alone or individual in his thoughts; half a dozen other males were eyeing her with similar thoughts. But those males were not having dinner with her, and she was not smiling at them.

From Edward's perspective, the tone with which she spoke with the boy was not the same with which she spoke to him. She seemed to hold herself back; she did not share her thoughts the way she had with him. Instead, she spoke with the boy of only mundane, standard topics. This pleased Edward more than it should. On top of that, her breathing was regular and her heart thudded a slow, steady rhythm. Conversely, when she was with him, her breathing routinely hitched, and her wet, smacking heartbeat varied from irregular stuttering to fast thrumming. He did not understand the variation, but there was a perceptible difference in her reaction to him and to this boy.

But, she did smile at the boy. And he made her laugh. Another young tree broke beneath his grip.

As they rose to leave, Edward thanked a dozen deities that he no longer had to endure the boy's attempts at impressing Bella. He again said prayers of thanks when Bella had not offered him an invitation into her home. She had, instead, smiled kindly and apologized for her need for sleep. Content, Edward had intended to depart from her as well. In order to continue their interaction, daily hunting was a necessity. After the boy's old, dinged VW was miles down the road, he raced through the forest to hunt, _again_.

Nevertheless, an hour later, he found himself drifting back through the thick, leafy trees near Bella's home. As he saw a second story light flicker off, he made the conscious decision that he had been avoiding for days. He wanted to see her again. And he did not think he could wait until ten o'clock the next morning.

After a moment of consideration, he rationalized that he would just check on her, just to make sure that she was sleeping well. Bella had looked exceedingly tired that day, and he worried about her health.

He wasn't sure which room was hers, so he took an educated guess and targeted the window through which he'd seen the lamp extinguish. With a light jump, his hand caught the overhang just above the high window. As he dangled there, his eyes looked into the room, and he discovered he'd predicted right.

Bella was there, lying asleep, curled across a fluffy, dark lavender bed set. An old, scuffed paperback was bent at the binding beside her, and a half empty glass of water decorated the nightstand. She was thankfully clothed in an ancient gray t-shirt and navy sweatpants – he had not considered the thought of her being otherwise – and her damp, dark curls were wildly splayed about her face. Her delicate lips were settled into a soft pout, and even through the double pane glass, he could easily discern her light breathing and thundering heartbeat. Despite having just fed, his throat again blossomed in scorching heat. He forcefully swallowed back the venom that pooled on his tongue.

Edward hung there for several long minutes, unmoving, memorizing her face framed in the pale moon light. Internally, he warred with the knowledge that he should not be there, that he was no better than one of the crude louts that ogled her, and with the incomprehensible desire to be in her presence. His better side won out, but as he was taking his last look at her and preparing to drop, he saw her lips move, and he heard a sharp whimper.

Frozen, he watched her fingers twist around the blanket, and her expression shifted from contented quiet to what appeared to be terror or agony. Her small body shook with tremors. Before he could consider the consequences of his actions, the window slid open, and he silently vaulted inside.

Not pausing, he ghosted to her side, bent down by the bed, and tentatively reached out to smooth her hair. At his touch, her movements stilled, and her grip loosened. What he felt was unfathomable. Against the icy granite of his skin, she was warm and soft, and her hair felt like the finest strands of silk. He wanted to bury his face in her curls. He, of course, did no such thing. Instead, holding his breath, he gently stroked her hair for several long minutes, carefully watching her face for any sign of cognizance.

Gradually, she returned to her previous state of calmness and serenity. With effort, he tore himself from her side, and silently flitted into the hall in search of a linen closet. In a flash, he returned with the thickest quilt he could find, and he gingerly laid the worn blanket on top of her.

Satisfied that she would sleep comfortably, he glanced around her small room. In the far corner, an antique hickory rocking chair beckoned. Always watching her, he settled into the chair to spend the remainder of the night.

* * *

_**April 1, 2009  
1:22 am  
Port Angeles, Washington**_

"Hey, baby. You looking for a good time?" the man sneered with a toothless smile. He was clearly intoxicated; his blood reeked of stale beer and cheap cigars. His thinning, peppered gray hair was grimy, and black grease coated the underside of his poorly kept nails. The man's complexion was sallow and marred by jagged scars from bar brawls. He was disgusting, even for a human.

"Why don't you come on over here, sweet thing? I got something for you," he slurred, as he motioned her toward the dark alley corner.

Victoria smirked at his comment. She cooed in a high, sugary soprano, "No, no, handsome one, I think I have something for you."

Hips swinging seductively, she sauntered over to the man. She toyed with him for a moment, licking her rosebud lips and innocently twirling her fiery tendrils of hair. "Would you like to see what I have for you?" she asked with a coy flutter of her eyes. The darkness, combined with the man's drunkenness, concealed the bright crimson of her irises.

"Hell yeah! Let me see what you got," the man grated, as his hand palmed her rear.

Suppressing her immediate response, she smiled and leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his soiled shirtfront. As her lips touched the skin of his neck, her icy breath washed over him, and the man shivered in response. Before he had the chance to react, her razor teeth pierced the dirty flesh covering his jugular, instantly slicing through skin, fat, and muscle. Without warning, her hand came up and crushed his throat, silencing his screams.

His thick limbs flailed helplessly as she sucked the hot blood from his stilling body. Within minutes, his corpse was emptied and obscured in a large, industrial garbage compactor.

As she licked a residual drop of blood from her lips, she glanced at the iron bin and giggled, "I hope it was as good for you as it was for me."


	11. Temptation

_**April 1, 2009**_  
_**5:03 am**_  
_**Thirteen miles southeast of Port Angeles, Washington**_

_My dearest Edward, _

_How ecstatic I am that you have located our Bella! Isn't she divine? How difficult it was – for even me – to slip into her father's home to steal that lock of hair! Oh, how her blood called! Delectable!_

_I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to share a few other items with you. I feel that they will make this whole experience that much more intense. Enjoy!_

_Just a reminder, less than three weeks remain, and then, I come for her. That is, if you don't kill her first. Either way, I win. _

_Until then, brother, _

_James_

Silently, James stared at the perfectly scripted ivory parchment, pleased with his black humor. His long fingers stroked the fine threads of the paper, ghosting over the shallow, black indentions where his pen had scrawled. As he inhaled, the sharp, vitriolic odor of paper processing chemicals filled his nostrils.

He glanced around the room. The building was small, dark, and cramped, a dilapidated single-room loggers cabin from no later than the 1940's. Even in broad daylight, only thin shards of light piercing through the boarded windows penetrated the shadows. Not that it mattered to James; his vision was as acute in darkness as it was in light. Old, dated and nicotine stained wallpaper peeled from the walls, and the carpet was dirty and riddled with insects and larvae. It was sparsely decorated, containing only a broken single mattress, a battered old table, and a wooden chair with missing back slats.

It was repulsive, barely inhabitable. But it suited his purpose; it was secluded, hidden in the green, leafy depths of rarely explored wilderness. It allowed him to monitor his game from afar, of course, through the activities and eyes of his mate. Edward would have detected his scent from miles away, thus Victoria had been rendered essential to his game.

James spat, disgusted as he considered his adversary. _That foolish vampire had an entire coven at his disposal, but he was too arrogant to make use of them_, he thought. _Once Edward was burned to ash, his coven would be worthy opponents to continue my games. The old one could be fun._

This round was proving to be the most intriguing and most challenging of their shared history. James had woven a complex tapestry, arranging the girl's arrival months before the game had officially commenced.

Killing the girl's mother had been an added bonus. Her blood had been hot and tangy as it pumped into his mouth. Regrettably, it had been so tantalizing that Victoria had had to pull him off of her dying body. If she had not, in his frenzy, he would have drunk her dry, leaving far too many questions for the authorities. Venom dripped down his incisors at the remembrance of killing the girl's mother. He could only imagine the taste of the girl.

For the first time in more than twenty years, James felt the exhilaration of sport, the spirited thrill of the hunt. Humans were frail and pitiable. Edward Cullen was not. More importantly, Edward Cullen deserved to be tormented and tortured; he deserved to suffer under his wrath. This game was far more than simple sport; this was cold, calculated retribution. Edward Cullen still owed him in blood.

The last girl had been a failure. Of course, he had defeated Edward, but it had not turned out as he'd intended. James had wanted the girl to die at his enemy's own hands. _That_ would be the ultimate victory; Edward killing the very human he was bound to protect would crush his deplorable and weak conscience.

Nicole's scent had been a guess. While appealing, Edward had somehow resisted her allure. But with Isabella Swan, James had hit his mark more surely than he could have possibly dreamed. This girl would be his enemy's undoing. A vampire could not resist his _singer_.

As added insurance, however, he carefully prepared his package for delivery. As he placed the glossy papers and small, black vacuum-sealed bag inside the box, he smirked.

* * *

_**April 3, 2009  
6:13 pm  
**__**Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

He watched her with rapt attention. Bella's pale, slender fingers deftly turned the lock as she closed up the store. Her dark chestnut hair swept messily over the indigo cotton covering her slight shoulders. He could not stop himself from staring at her mouth when it settled into a soft pout as she tugged at the door, ensuring that it was secure.

After another three days of near constant exposure to her, both in her store during the day, and unbeknownst to her, in her bedroom at night, he had managed to close the distance between them from five feet to a more _human_ two to three feet. It did not come without pain, however. Edward had come to the realization that his throat would simply exist in a perpetual state of burning when he was anywhere near her.

As if to prove the point, a faint breeze lifted loose tendrils of her hair and sent waves of mouthwatering fragrance across his skin. Edward had detected the light wind and had prepared himself for the assault, but it was to no avail. Her luscious scent crashed into him, attacking his nostrils and lungs. Against his will, venom coated his tongue and slid down his throat as the inferno flared.

His hands curled into tight claws, and his eyes snapped shut as he battled his thirst and swallowed uncomfortably. To hide his reaction, Edward turned away from her and pretended to watch a group of teenaged youths down the street. Teeth clenched, he sucked in fresh air, desperately trying to replace her sticky perfume.

After a few moments, her scent thankfully dissipated, as least to the point where he could manage articulation. His muscles relaxed, and he returned his gaze to her wondering face.

"May I see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly, repeating his daily request.

Bella's lips parted into a blinding smile. The whites of her teeth gleamed against the rose of her lips, and her cheeks flooded pink.

_Of course, she would not make this easy on me_, he sarcastically mused. At his request, the sound of her heartbeat rumbled in his ears. Oddly enough, that smacking thump, while it exacerbated his thirst to near madness, had become one of the most recognizable sounds in his world. Often, when her scent overwhelmed him, when he allowed himself to approach too closely, Edward distracted himself by counting her heart's beats.

"I'd like that, Edward. But, I can't. I've made plans with Jacob. He's been asking for days now, and I promised him that I'd spend some time with him."

_The boy_. Edward assumed that he must have contacted her while he was hunting as this was the first he'd heard of her plans. With illogical anger and heat, he silently cursed the wretched boy. His jaw locked, and his fingers tightened around the fabric of his jacket seam. With careful composure, he managed a stilted apology for being so forward.

Bella simply laughed, and Edward was puzzled. Vainly, he searched for her thoughts, trying to determine the basis for her amusement. But her laughter was infectious, and a reciprocating smile involuntarily graced his lips. _How can I not be pleased when she is happy?_ he realized.

"What?" he asked, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.

"Are you jealous, Edward?" she casually teased. Her dark eyes glittered, but her cheeks flushed once again. He suspected that her casual tone was covering up more, but without her thoughts as context, he could not be certain.

_Am I jealous?_ he wondered. _Jealousy, an _emotion as old as time itself. He'd read about it, watched it portrayed on television and on stage, and had even felt its heat in the thoughts of others. But never had he experienced it for himself. It was hot, irrational, and consuming. In sudden realization, he understood his anger with the boy for what it truly was.

"And if I am?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"You shouldn't be, you know. Jacob is only a friend. I told you that."

"What am I?" he asked seriously. The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. _What could I be to her?_ he questioned. He was the reason that her life was in danger. Every moment he spent in her presence placed her life at risk. He considered himself foolish to assume that he could be anything more than a weak protector.

"What would you like to be?" she returned in an equally serious tone.

* * *

_**April 3, 2009  
11:57 pm  
**__**The home of Chief Charles Swan, Forks, Washington**_

Silently, Edward padded across the faded oak floor to assume his nightly vigil in her old rocking chair. Leaning back against the curved slats, he watched her face, again lit by white-violet moonlight.

Her breath was shallow and quick; she was dreaming, about what, Edward did not know. A smile played across her lips. Her hair was damp from her nightly shower, and the scent coming off of her skin was lightly tainted by the sweetness of some bath product. He wanted to ask her to stop using such things. He wanted to explain to her that _her_ perfume could never be improved by synthetic fragrances. Of course, he could never say those words to her. Bella was exceedingly clever and perceptive. She already suspected that something was different about him, and there was no need in adding fuel to the fire. Concealing his nature was becoming remarkably difficult as their exchanges increased in frequency and proximity.

She slept on her stomach with her face turned outward to the room. Her arms were stretched out from her body, and one of her hands fell limply off the side of the mattress. She was covered to her waist by a thin white top sheet, one leg was slung out, likely from her typical restless movements. Bella rarely slept soundly; her dreams were fitful and caused her body to rock and to thrash.

But for the moment, she was still, and her features were at peace. His gaze shifted from her face, and Edward noted the fine, soft curves of her body, partially obscured beneath the sheet. Her tattered shirt had ridden up from her unconscious movements, exposing a sliver of pale flesh along her back. His fingers twitched at the sudden longing to caress her skin. Warm silk called to him, and his fingertips burned from the memory of stroking her hair to ease her anxiety that first night.

"Too complicated," he whispered. His mind was growing more and more muddled by emotions that he could not fully explain. He argued that his primary focus should be on protecting her, not on knowing her. He was becoming distracted and too involved. He had nothing to offer her. After all, he could only barely stand being in a room with her without wanting to kill her. _I'm a vampire, a damned and soulless creature of the night, for God's sake. And she, she is a human. A fragile, beautiful, perfect human woman_, he lamented. Yet, despite his consternation and against his will, he acknowledged that he was becoming hopelessly consumed and absorbed by her. He had no idea how to resolve the situation.

As he dolefully pondered his plight, resigning to attempt to distance himself, her lips parted. Startled and fearful that she'd awoken, Edward stilled, the chair's runners paused at their apex.

Her eyes were still closed, and her breathing was regular. She hadn't woken; she was still dreaming. In a faint, mumbled whisper, he heard words that set his unbeating heart on fire.

"Edward," she sighed softly. "Don't leave. Stay with me. I need you."

For long moments, he stared at her lips, stunned, focusing on the gentle slope and curvature. Tiny, pink folds and cracks drew his attention as his mind repeated her words over and over. What felt like searing heat filled his chest, and he basked in this new sensation. If Edward could have shed tears, he would have. Instead, motionless and frozen by her demand, he looked at her with new eyes. Something deep inside of him had changed eternally and irrevocably.

_If my body will just follow suit_, he desperately prayed, as he sucked in large lungfuls of her scent.

Hours later, the sun peaked through the trees and threw beams of light against the dull beige walls of her room, and he knew that his time was up, at least for the moment. He had to leave her before she woke, and because of that damnable boy, he would not see her again for hours. He wanted to stay, to be there when she rose, to see the depths of her russet eyes. But she would not understand his presence in her room. She would scream and forbid him from seeing her. Reluctantly, he glanced back over his shoulder at her sleeping form. He smiled, and then, deftly slid through the window.

Through the darkened forest, he ran, gliding through the trees at top speed. His feet barely touched the ground, and the wind whistled in his ears. His unruly hair plastered back against his scalp as he soared from bow to bow.

He finally understood what he had to do. He could not afford losing Bella. He would not allow it. For the first time in the history of his war with James, Edward would bring in reinforcements. As much as he despised the knowledge that his family would learn of his dark secrets and would learn of his treachery, it was his only choice. He might defeat James on his own, he acknowledged; he'd done it before. But 'might' was a risk he simply could not take.

* * *

_**April 4, 2009  
9:00 am  
**__**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington **_

As Edward approached his family's home, he was assaulted by a cacophony of thoughts. They'd all heard him through the trees miles away.

Esme's thoughts hit him first, colored with worry_. Thank god! Where have you been, Edward?_

_Does he think he can just show up any time he wants?_ Rosalie's silent voice called. Hers was full of irritation, but he could hear the worry behind her mental voice, as well.

_Hey, man. Already been hunting, huh? Damn, I was hoping to get out of here for the weekend._ Edward couldn't help but smile at Emmett's playful tone.

_Edward, I'm glad you came back. We were worried_, Carlisle thought.

He was apprehensive, not knowing how to approach his family. Edward needed their help, and for that, he had to tell them things about himself that no one knew. Shameful things.

_Son_, Carlisle called again. _There is a package on the table for you. A courier dropped it off this morning._

Edward's earlier resolve and hope were instantly replaced with black dread. He sprinted into the house, fearful of what the package contained, and more fearful that it had divulged more to his family than he was prepared to handle at the moment.

Sitting on the edge of the cherry wood, it looked innocuous enough. It was a simple courier's box, rectangular white cardboard, no more than a foot in length and ten inches in width. Bold typed font signaled Edward's name alone; there was neither a return label, nor any stamped markings signaling its point of origination. Cautiously, he lifted its slight, uneven weight and carried it outside.

He wasn't sure where Alice or Jasper were; their voices hadn't called out to him. But he couldn't risk exposure before he was ready. Knowing that Jasper's particular gift of sensing emotion would give him away, he sped from the house as quickly as possible. Where earlier, his feet had been propelled by hope, now, they were pushed by fear. His family's silent, jumbled thoughts were lost to him as his focus was entirely on the small package under his arm.

Miles away from his home, he halted. In a small clearing, he leaned against a fallen, moss-covered tree. Not wanting to see the contents, but knowing that he must, he tentatively slit the taped bindings.

Inside, he found his message. James's neat script taunted him as he read and re-read the lines.

"He was in her room! He touched her!" he yelled. The words came out strangled and raw from his fury. In his rage, his shaking fingers tightened around the thin paper and crumpled it beyond recognition.

Hurriedly, he dumped the contents of the box on the ground. Two blown-up photographs, bright against the brown earth, immediately grabbed his attention.

The first was of a woman, presumably Bella's mother. The dark hair and angled features were a dead giveaway. Her limp body was splayed out on black pavement, contorted and twisted. Bella had told him of her mother's car accident, and at the time, he had had his own suspicions. But now, it was confirmed. He saw the telltale, jagged crescent on her throat, and he saw the ruby-colored blood sprayed across her torso. An arrow of sharp guilt pierced through him. _I killed her_, he thought. _It's my fault. _

The second picture shook Edward to the core. It was of Bella. She stood, purse and car keys in hand, on her father's porch looking directly into the camera. He knew immediately when this photograph had been taken. Bella was wearing the same clothes that she had been the day he first saw her. It had been taken in the evening, likely soon after he'd run from her. But even in the darkness of the shot, Edward could easily see Bella's white features taut with anxiety. James or one of his coven had been there, watching her. How Edward hadn't smelled him was unclear and terrifying.

As he lifted the box, he noticed that there was something else tucked inside that had not fallen out. Reaching in, his fingers touched a small, black plastic bag of sorts. The plastic was a heavy mil weight and stiff, so it was difficult to discern its contents by feel. But it moved beneath his touch. His mind immediately flashed back to when he'd received another such plastic container.

He feared the contents, not knowing what to expect. But he had to know; he needed to know if James had damaged Bella in any way. Clamping his eyes shut, his sharp nail slid along the edge of the packaging, slicing it open.

What he found inside sent him into pure, unadulterated shock, and his jaw dropped wide. His eyes gazed down at a small, clear bag filled with thick, crimson fluid. It was exactly the size of a pint, and in bold, black printed letters, a white label read: _Isabella Marie Swan, AB-, 10-12-08_.

His breath caught in his throat, and his body began to violently shudder. His fingers formed sharp, shaking talons that threatened to burst the bag. His golden eyes immediately flashed coal-black, and a low, raw snarl erupted from within his chest.

"NO!" he screamed, echoing loudly against the trees. His mind waged brutal, violent war against his body's primal urges. Desperately, his mind and heart recalled her perfect face and form, highlighted and glowing in the moonlight. His unbeating heart clenched, trying to bring forth and to focus on the deep changes in his being that he'd experienced only hours prior. But every _physical_ fiber of his body wanted to rip the bag apart. She was there, just behind the thin wall of plastic. He could taste her; he could have her right then and there.

Raging fire ripped and clawed his throat; the only heat that he'd ever felt that could have eclipsed it was the fiery hell of transformation. Poisonous venom coated his lips and teeth. As he opened his mouth, long, thick strings stretched from his top lip to his bottom. Moaning in anguish, he forcefully swallowed, trying to contain the burning bloodlust.

But his mind was too weak; it was too much. Against his permission, his claw tightened around the bag and it burst. His world fractured and shattered as thick, lukewarm blood splattered his face and coated his hand and arm. Mouth agape, he numbly gazed down at the scarlet liquid dripping from his fingertips.

The acute scent of _her_ was all he could register. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and enthralling. His hand turned over and over, catching the precious falling drops. Streams of sticky fluid rolled across his fingers, and pools gathered and collected in the cup of his palm.

In his blood induced trance, his mind shut down. As if in slow motion, Edward's wet hand came up to his mouth. Staring at the swirled shades of red sliding down the white granite of his skin, his tongue hesitantly darted out from between his lips and licked from the base of his palm to the tip of his forefinger.

At the taste of _her_, all remaining shreds of humanity were lost. Desperately and frantically, he licked the blood from his hands and arms, as hungered growls rumbled against his ribcage. His tongue roughly lapped at the droplets that had soaked into his clothes, as if the motion could draw the fluid back out from the threads. Keening sobs of ecstasy shook him as he swallowed back the only taste that could cool the inferno.

She tasted like nothing he had ever experienced in all of his century of existence, like nothing he'd come close to reliving through others. Her blood was the sweetest, most luxurious drink he could ever have imagined. And his thoughts were consumed only with, _More!, _as his legs raced with screaming speed toward Forks.


	12. Dissolution

_**April 4, 2009**_  
_**9:30 am**_  
_**The home of Chief Charles Swan, Forks, Washington**_

"Why did I agree to meet Jake?" Bella wondered aloud, as she hurriedly finished straightening the already tidy living area.

Hours before, she had been awoken by strange and flitting dreams. Like many recent nights, thankfully, her dreams had not been of her mother; rather, they had been a blurry mélange of colors and raw emotion. She recoiled at the vague but intense memories of her dreams. While she could not recall details, she distinctly remembered the being starkly terrified by something or someone whom she could not see, and she could remember the feel of wet, tall grass whipping underneath her feet. She remembered calling out for help over and over, but it felt like it would never come. Just when she had nearly lost hope, like fire doused with water, her terror had subsided, and had been replaced by the warm blanket of safety and security. It all made very little sense, but it was disconcerting enough to wake her just as the sun was beginning to cast beams along her east-facing wall.

Trying and failing miserably to fall back asleep, she had instead risen to take care of small chores around the house before she left to meet Jacob. In a flurry of motion, she picked up her father's discarded old boots, wiped down the small grease splatters on the pale lemon Formica countertops, and washed the handful of dishes left in the sink. Each task reminded her of her father. Like so many days recently, he was long gone, again accompanying the Port Angeles law enforcement department on their manhunt.

Another individual, a forty-year-old local man, had been violently murdered, and there were no leads. According to the newspaper, the man's body had been discovered in a damp alleyway, stashed inside a rarely used compactor. Finding the body had been pure happenstance. When the storeowner had tried the machine after weeks of nonuse, the dead man's bones caught the gears. _That_ information had not been issued in the paper; to Bella's horror, she had accidentally overheard her father speaking with authorities. Her arms gathered tightly around her chest as a sharp, cold shudder raced down her spine at the recalled memory of the high-pitched gasp in her father's voice.

Quickly wrenching herself from her frightening recollection, Bella focused on her self-inquisition. She knew why she had agreed to meet Jacob. Jacob had been nothing but kind to her since they had met that first night nearing two weeks prior. And since that night, they were becoming good friends; Jacob was someone Bella could easily see herself spending time with in Seattle. He was warm, cheerful, and generally pleasant to be around. Theirs was an easy friendship, one that had sprung up almost immediately. When they were together, he made her laugh and smile, something that she really hadn't done since her mother's death, and she was grateful to him. Being around Jacob was like breathing fresh, warm air. She sincerely hoped that he would not ruin it by wanting more from her.

Edward Cullen, however, was an altogether different matter. Bella was drawn to him in inexplicable, overwhelming ways. His gentle, musical laugh, his intelligent wit, and his heart-stopping crooked smile called to her on levels that she did not fully understand. Initially, his intensity and disconcerting behavior had been too much, and it had frightened her. But now that they had spent so much time together, that same intensity and enigmatic nature pulled at her. She found herself hanging on his every word, gesture, and movement. And oddly enough, she found her sentiments mirrored in him.

Their week of conversation had led her to one startling conclusion: despite the short time that she had known him, despite the questions that still lingered in her mind, she was quickly and strangely falling in love with him. Falling in love with a man that she barely knew and had never even touched was perturbing to say the least. But nonetheless, she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was truth. She was falling in love with him quickly and deeply.

Unlike any other before, he made her entire being burn. She longed to touch him, his lips, his face, any part of him. Leaving Edward was the least favorite part of her day. It took every bit of her self-control to not reach out and stop him when he walked away.

Despite her feelings, when she had asked him, "What would you like to be?" she had regretted the words. His face twisted as she had seen it do so many times. He wanted more from her, too, that was clear, but for some reason, he could not acknowledge it. All she could do was smile and say her goodbye, biting back disappointment.

Because of this newfound attachment, she wavered on her decision to meet Jacob. When Edward had asked her if he could see her, she had nearly acquiesced and called Jacob to cancel. There was nothing on earth more that she wanted than to spend more time with Edward. _Nothing_. But she had promised Jacob, and Bella had never been one to break a promise. _And too_, she rationalized, _it might be a good idea to clear my head a bit. _

Edward had the most astonishing ability to muddle her senses to the point where she questioned her ability to think coherently. Just one look or one word could cause her heart to sputter and race. The more time they spent together, the more certain she became that he was well aware of his effect on her physically. Whenever her heart thumped against her ribcage, he grinned as though he could hear every thundering beat. _Yes, time away from those eyes and that smile is the smart choice_, she reluctantly concluded.

At ten o'clock, Bella darted out the door, heading to the town's small park where she had agreed to meet Jacob. She hadn't seen much of Forks, other than the grocery store, the library, and now, Newton's. Regardless of the probable daily drizzle, the promise of the open, green grass and shady trees was alluring.

Her old truck crept along the winding road, splashing through rain-filled dips, barely touching the posted speed limit. The ancient, knobbed radio blared a static-filled twangy country tune, the effect of its ability to tune to only three stations. Nevertheless, Bella bobbed in time as she drove, a smile lighting her face.

She hadn't been to the park before, but it was Forks, after all. There are only three main roads, and Jacob's directions had been clear. Within a handful of minutes, she saw the broad expanse of the bright green lawn spreading out alongside the road.

Even driving by, she could see how beautiful it was. Unlike Arizona, everything in Forks was lush and green. This park was no exception, and it had been immaculately landscaped and trimmed. Early, fragrant spring flowers were beginning to peek out from the manicured beds, and the space was pure, without any sign of blemish or unwanted litter. The not unpleasant smell of damp moss and trees permeated the air. Bella immediately liked this place, and she sighed as she considered how pleasant it would be to bring Edward. She knew that he would appreciate the beauty here.

With a groaning creak and a hard slam, she exited her old, iron beast, and she began looking for the spot that Jacob had mentioned. Slowly, she walked along the sparsely graveled path, careful to keep her tennis shoes out of the slick and muddy ruts. Considering the wet although not yet raining conditions, Bella was pleased that she had chosen to wear a pair of older, faded jeans and her canary wind and rain jacket. _Only in Washington, would people consider parks and picnics in the rain_, she thought in amusement.

Looking around, she noticed that there were very few people in the park. Across the wide lawn, two small children were swinging on a tall A-frame swing set. An adult, perhaps their father, stood behind and alternated pushing each child. Barely carried across the light breeze, their tinkling laughter and delighted squeals were heart-warming, and her smile spread into a grin.

Stepping lightly along the path, her dark eyes swept out to the distance, to two large, leafy oaks at the far end of the lawn. Their boughs spread wide, casting dark shadows underneath.

"That's it," Bella said quietly, realizing those trees were the two that Jacob had described. The branches were so large and so thickly covered in new leaves that from her distance, she could not see whether or not Jacob had arrived yet.

From the road, she hadn't realized how large the field was. It took her several minutes to reach the far edge of the lawn. As she approached, gradually, she began to make out Jacob's form. Clearly, he had been there awhile. Tinges of a red and white blanket popped out, contrasting sharply with the dark, shaded green of the ground. Seeing his prone form and long limbs sprawled out, Bella giggled. Her giggles then turned to loud, boisterous laughs as she realized that he had apparently fallen asleep.

But something was wrong. _Surely he should have heard me by now_, she thought warily. Her breath quickened in fear, of what she wasn't sure.

Her pace sped from a ginger walk to a jog, then to an outright run.

Twenty yards away, she halted, frozen. Her mind raced as she processed the scene before her.

"No," she whispered, as her body began to quiver.

Blood was everywhere. The blanket she'd seen from afar was not red and white. It was only white. The red was Jacob's blood. His face, his chest, his arms – everything – was splattered with large, fat, dripping drops of crimson blood. _His blood,_ she processed.

Abruptly, she lurched from her standstill, screaming raw and ragged, "No! Jacob! No!"

Falling to her knees by his side, Bella frantically called and sobbed his name, searching for any sign of life. Gaping, jagged gashes littered his bare arms, neck, and his shirt was torn, revealing deep wounds to his chest. Her stomach rolled when she saw the blood pooling on the ground at his sides.

Terrified tears leaked down her face as she pressed the heel of her palm into his chest over and over, trying to beat life back into him. The salty, metallic taste of his blood wet her lips as she breathed into his mouth, forcing his chest to expand. At the bitter iron taste, her stomach churned and rolled again, and she leaned to the side to heave its contents.

Instinctively, she knew that he was gone. There was no pulse, no breathing, and he had lost so much blood. But his body was still warm; so warm, he felt alive. Refusing to believe, she continued, bathing her hands and body in red, screaming for help and mindlessly pushing through the engrained CPR procedure she had learned as a teenager.

"Why won't anyone come?" she pleaded hoarsely. Her body shook as the adrenaline waned, and her arms began to give out.

"Please! Somebody! Help me!" Bella screamed again, her voice rattling with swallowed back tears.

"Jacob! Please, no! Jake!" she whispered as she finally relented. As realization crashed over her, wracking sobs rocked her body, and she found herself sinking and collapsing into unconsciousness across his bloodied chest.

* * *

_**April 4, 2009  
10:00 am  
Two miles North of Forks, Washington**_

Edward's legs raced as fast as they ever had. His mind was still lost in the raging bloodlust. The unbearable scent of _her_ covered his body and saturated his senses. Where her blood had splattered, his skin and shirt were sticky and stained a pale reddish-pink, matching the soon to be shifting color of his black eyes. Having only consumed that small pint, he had not drunk enough of her blood for his irises to completely change to crimson. But even if he partook no more of her, when his bloodlust abated, they would be a darker molasses than the normal light amber, more rusty, and rimmed bright red. His eyes would be a dead giveaway to his family.

But as he ran, all he could think of was how she tasted. Her blood was like the finest wine, and his tongue burned for more. His entire being vibrated to the hum of her blood coursing through him. He could only compare it to drug-induced euphoria, and he was a hopeless addict.

He streaked through the trees in a blurred whir of stained white cotton, denim, and bronze. The loose fabric of his shirt, damp from humidity and drizzle, smacked and plastered against his chest. Small, furred forest creatures skittered and scurried perpendicular to his path, intuitively realizing the danger he posed. His ears, buzzing with bloodlust, barely acknowledged the screeching and squawking of birds flying haphazardly from the trees, driven from their nests and perches. As he ran, miniscule details, cracks, splinters, and spider webs came into sharp, dizzying focus.

At the edge of town, Edward slowed, his body somehow understanding the need for stealth. Hidden just inside the tree line, he crouched low, and he crept, following the streets to her home. As he approached the small, white two-story house, his ears pricked, listening for signs of Bella, listening for her telltale heartbeat.

A rumbling, angry growl filled his chest when he heard nothing from within. At the sound, he started, and some small part of his mind began functioning. It wasn't, however, the portion that he so desperately needed, the portion that would force him to stop his hunt. Instead, it was the cold, calculating predator in him.

He quickly realized that finding her could prove difficult. Unlike every other individual in the town, he could not hear her mind. Her scent would be hard to track as well, since she had taken her old truck. Her missing vehicle indicated that she was already with or was on her way to meet Jacob Black.

_Jacob_. His growl turned into a ripping snarl. He could certainly locate that boy's mind._ I've heard it enough_, he spat.

Quickly, he darted away from the house and headed into town, knowing that there were but a handful of places to go. Slinking behind the library, he listened for Jacob. Hearing nothing, he moved to the diner, to the few, sparse stores along the central street, and then finally to Newton's.

_Nothing. _

Infuriated, he stalked the back alleys of the town, racing up and down the dark corridors, listening for any sign of Jacob Black.

_Nothing. _

The intoxicating scent on his skin and clothes was driving him mad. As he moved through the shadows, he pulled his shirt over his face, sucking deep breaths of her luxurious perfume. His lips smacked as his tongue outlined his lips, searching for any remaining droplets of _her_. Thin rivulets of venom ran down his chin, dripping and spotting his already stained shirt. As each minute passed, his muscles tensed and strained painfully with the tremors racing up and down his spine. He had to find her.

At the far end of town, he paused, eyes gazing toward the outskirts.

"No! Jacob! No!" a high-pitched, wailing shriek rang out.

His head turned sharply toward the direction of the scream, and his body froze. To his ears, it was as clear and as acute as if she were standing beside him. The scream was ripping and tortured. She sounded as though she were in pain, as if she was being attacked by a wild animal. A portion of his locked-away self broke free and emerged.

_The girl. _

_Bella._

_The girl. _

_Bella. _

As he stood utterly still, an unmoving granite statue, a furious battle waged within. The livid and untamed animal rejoiced and triumphed at having located its perfect meal, while the man, the one who had been transformed, screamed in terror for her.

"Please! Somebody! Help me!" another agonized cry pierced through his frozen form, breaking him from his internal fight.

"No!" Edward panted repeatedly, eyes suddenly lucid, wide and fearful. _Bella_.

_James. _

It felt as though he had been punched in the chest. He shook his head wildly, and his vision cleared. Like a shot from a cannon, his feet sprang forth, carrying him toward the call of her voice. He blurred through the trees, flying across creeks and logs. Trees and undergrowth snapped and cracked as he plowed through the thick undergrowth. His surroundings were unrecognizable, even to his eyes.

Within moments, Edward found himself at the edge of McBride Park. His eyes frantically swept the lawn, searching for any sign of her. At the far end of the rectangular green field, underneath the branches of two ancient oaks, he saw her. Bella, _his Bella_, was lying face down atop Jacob, unmoving.

From the distance, he heard it.

_Thump-thump_

His ears picked up the faint rhythm of an erratic heartbeat and its accompanying shallow, harsh breathing. One of them was alive. The other was not.

"No!" he sobbed, unknowing if the cadence belonged to Jacob or to Bella. It was so dim and weak; it sounded nothing like the vibrant staccato that was seared into his memory. Without thought or caution, he streaked across the field, dew and rain water spraying behind him. If there were witnesses to his flight, he did not care. He would deal with any and all consequences later.

Time slowed as he came upon their collapsed bodies. Each millisecond felt like a century, as if time itself was preventing him from reaching her. His eyes took in everything, his ears heard everything; this moment would be burned into him for all time.

_Thump-thump_

His lips sped through every prayer in every language that he knew, as his legs continued to push forward. It felt like he was wading in concrete. He could not seem to reach her fast enough.

_Blood. _

Edward's eyes widened in stark shock and dread, and his body halted, feet skidding along the wet grass. Bella's body and clothes were drenched in bright, fresh, crimson blood. The wind was out of the west, whipping the scent of it away from them and away from him. From his position, Edward was still unable to tell which one of them was alive.

_Please!_ he prayed, as painful dry heaves began to rip through his midsection.

Her skin was sallow and paler than he had ever seen it. Her eyes were closed, swollen, and blackened. Her body was motionless. She looked dead, lifeless.

"Bella!" he roared._ Dead. She's dead_, he thought, as sharp, grating pants accompanied the shudders, reverberating through his torso and limbs. It felt as though someone had reached inside of him and tore his body open, leaving a jagged, wide, gaping wound. Never, not even when his limbs had been torn from his body, had he experienced this kind of sheer pain. His vision clouded and his mind spun wildly, enduring excruciating torture. Numbly, his feet plodded to her side, unable to turn around.

Mere feet away, the wind shifted, sending a wave of tangy aroma over him.

As soon as the scent touched his skin, Edward 's eyes widened, and his muscles tensed. His mind immediately recognized the smell and screeched, _The scent is…wrong. Wrong!_

_That _scent was not Bella. In less than an instant, he collapsed to his knees at her side, and pulled her limp body up.

Wheezy, ragged breaths escaped her bloodstained lips, and her heart smacked meekly against her chest. Despite its feeble rhythm, her heartbeat thrummed through her body and into his. Pure, unrivaled elation spread through his being, filling his numbed limbs. Relief stung his eyes, and his chest flooded with the same blinding heat he had felt in her room. His mind reeled with the whiplash of his emotions. In a period of only minutes, he had been burned at the stake and sent to hell, only to then be resurrected.

_She was alive._

She wasn't conscious. She needed help, but Bella was alive. And the predator in him had vanished.

Without a second thought, he scooped her into his arms, and stood. Her head lolled against his chest, tucked under his chin, and her lips parted. In a faint whisper, he heard her mumble incoherently, "Edward." And then, she slipped into back into unconsciousness.

Minutes later, Bella draped across his bloodied chest and arms, Edward kicked open the swinging Emergency Room doors. He was assaulted by the stinging odor of antiseptic and sickly blood. Barely controlling his vampire speed, he sprinted down the hall, bellowing, "Carlisle!"


	13. Victoria

**_April 4, 2009  
12:29 pm  
Olympic Peninsula Regional – Forks, Forks, Washington_**

"_Wha-what are you doing?"_

The voice was low and frantic, full of concern. It was shaky and breathy, yet somehow, still sounded beautifully musical and velvety. Even in her current state, its lilting quality caressed her ears. _It is so very familiar, _she thought, frustrated.

Aggravation pricked; Bella _knew_ the pitch and intonation of _this_ voice. The name was on the tip of her tongue, but in her haze, she just could not pinpoint to whom the voice belonged. Desperately, she grasped for any hint, for any sign, for any name. _Please, speak again_, she pleaded.

As she wracked her mind, searching her memories, other sounds slowly began to infiltrate her dreamlike state.

_The sharp rustling of paper to her right…_

_A rhythmic, annoying beep to her left…_

_A faint clapping, like footsteps, on tile…_

_An incoherent, static-filled blare of a voice in the distance… _It sounded hollow, like an echo in a barrel.

She was spinning wildly, her mind lurching and bending. Almost as if she were falling, Bella's stomach rolled and sank. Her mind reached out, trying to wield her body's movements. Her efforts were futile, however; she remained in blurry fog. She heard but could not speak. Her eyes refused to obey her command to open, leaving her sightless, and her limbs denied her call to motion. She was stuck, frozen, and completely exposed.

A piercing odor of rubbing alcohol stabbed her nose and coated her tongue. Vaguely, she felt a biting sting in the crook of her elbow.

Another voice, one she had no recollection of whatsoever, answered, _"It's just something to help her relax. Bella will be disoriented and frightened when her mind allows her to wake."_

"_Carlisle, please, tell me she is ok."_

A strange, light pressure touched her hand. It was cold and hard, and it was glass smooth. The pressure moved and threaded between her fingers. _A hand_, she realized abruptly. But it did not feel as she would have expected. It wasn't warm or soft; it didn't give against her flesh. Instead, it was so very _cold_, freezing almost, and the skin was rigidly inflexible against hers. The glass-like fingers between hers slid along her skin, sending a tickling shudder down her spine. She wondered if her tremors were real or if they merely figments of her imagination.

A curious smell, like sweet summer honey, washed over her, replacing the stink of alcohol. _I know this smell_, _it is so relaxing,_ she hummed, _and so_ _pleasant._

Another pressure, again wintry and hard, touched her forehead.

"_Son, Bella will be fine," _the voice belonging to 'Carlisle' answered.

"_But she has been unconscious for so long! How do you know…that...there are no injuries?" _the frantic voice returned.

"_Trust me. I looked at the x-rays myself. There are no broken bones, not even a scratch on her. And her vitals are strong. Physically, she is healthy."_

"_Why won't she wake?" _

The heartrending longing in the speaker's tone was clear. This voice belonged to someone important to her, someone whom she should remember. Silently, she begged her mind to recall. This was important; she _had_ to know this voice.

_"Edward, Bella has obviously endured significant mental anguish. This is her mind's way of protecting itself. She will wake when she is ready. We will just have to be patient."_

_Edward._

Edward's name curled and cartwheeled on her unspeaking tongue. Her body suddenly felt warm and full, and where the icy fingers pressed into her skin, it burned and tingled.

Vibrant images of pale, white skin and red-bronze hair immediately flooded her vision, replacing the blackness.

_The way her heart stuttered when he was near…the look in his eyes when she caught him staring… _

_The strong, angular jaw line… the dazzling crooked smile…the flashing yellow-amber eyes…the sweet smell coming off of his skin… _

_His quiet voice, decorated by odd phrasings and intonations…his never-ending questions and soft, muffled laughter… _

_Edward in her store… Edward across the wide wooden table from her in the library…Edward walking beside her, selecting produce in the grocery store… Edward leaning against the old building across the street watching her…the white, streaking blur racing away from the store…_

_Edward... Edward... Edward._

Edward saved her. Dimly, she remembered him lifting her limp body, and she remembered the feel of him against her, holding her. His body was angular, firm, and…_cold._ She longed to bury herself against his chest once more; there, she felt safe, secure, and protected.

"_Yes, Carlisle, we will talk. We have to,"_ Edward answered.

She hadn't heard the question. _What did he mean 'talk'?_ she wondered.

"_Yes, it was one of us," _he answered again. Edward's voice was strained and rough, as if he were in physical pain. _Is he injured? Is he ok? _

_"Yes, this has to do with…my disappearances."_

A pregnant, anxious pause filled the air. _What do you mean? Edward? Please!_ she thought, desperately trying to understand. This perplexing and disjointed conversation was her only link to reality.

_"I know, I can't tell you how much I regret the boy. No one should suffer the way I know that he did. His blood will always be on my conscience."_

_"It was Jacob Black. His family is from La Push. They will be devastated."_

_Jacob._

A dark panic welled in her chest, and images of Edward were replaced with bloodied visions of Jacob lying against a white and red background. His arms were spread wide, and his face was contorted in an expression of pure agony. Deep, jagged slashes covered his body, and blood flowed like crimson rivers down his chest and torso. She could taste the coppery salt of his blood on her lips, and she could feel the thick, red fluid squeezing between her clenched fists. Her stomach surged, and nausea threatened her tenuous hold on consciousness.

But her torment was interrupted by Edward whispering, his voice choked with earnest, beseeching emotion, _"No, Carlisle, I will not leave her, even for a moment. I...I can't. After she wakes, we'll talk. There is much to discuss, much that I'm ashamed to say. But I will explain it all."_

_Explain what?_ she shouted. But no one answered; no matter how loudly she screamed, no one could hear.

"_Edward!"_ a new voice rang out. It was high-pitched and nervous. Sharp clicks, followed by muffled pads, echoed through the room as the voice continued, _"Oh, thank God! I thought we were too late!"_

"_Alice. Jasper," _Edward responded in a clipped tone, all pleading vanished.

_Alice. Of course,_ she remembered from their interaction at her store. Her voice was clear and bright, like tinkling bells. _Why is Alice here?_

"_Oh Edward, I'm so sorry. We were out hu-. We were away from the house. And I saw too late. I tried to call,"_ she cried, full of heartfelt apology.

"_Alice, it wasn't your job to predict this. You didn't know," _Carlisle replied smoothly and evenly.

Carlisle's tenor voice was authoritative, but comforting and soothing. _Didn't Carlisle call Edward 'son'_, she tried to recall. _Yes! Carlisle is Edward's father. And he is a doctor. Am I in a hospital? _At her last realization, sharp fear briefly consumed her, sending her mind spinning once more.

Agreeing, Edward said quietly, _"No, Alice. This is all my fault."_

"_No, I didn't! You should know that my eyes would be fully red if I had,"_ he grated with a sudden, unmistakable tinge of anger.

_Eyes? I don't understand_, Bella thought, taken aback and distracted from her prior recognition. None of this made any sense at all; it was confusing and puzzling. It was as though she were only hearing half of a conversation. And she could do nothing about the situation.

Again, her mind willed her body to move, but to no avail. Frustrated, silent sobs coursed through her. A ballooning, building pressure grew in her chest. She wanted to scream.

She heard Edward's breathing catch. _"Bella is…she is important to me,"_ Edward said softly. The cold fingers intertwined in hers tightened perceptibly, and she felt an icy thumb ghosting up and down the back of her hand.

Carlisle calmly interrupted and said pointedly, _"Bella's father is on his way from Port Angeles; I called him the moment she was admitted. We'll continue this at home. Edward has agreed to talk."_

There was the sound of shifting fabric and paper, followed by Carlisle's reassuring voice continuing_, "When you are ready, of course."_

_"Of course,"_ Edward returned, his anger seemingly dissipated.

* * *

_**April 4, 2009  
10:33 am  
**__**Thirteen miles southeast of Port Angeles, Washington**_

"James," she purred.

Even in the indistinct darkness of the small room, he could discern her disheveled and bloodied form. Wet, dark splotches littered her slimly cut jeans, and her fire-red curls were matted and tangled. Waves of spicy human essence rolled off her body, crashing into him and filling the room. He inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the perfumed flavor of the air. _Nothing smelled better than freshly spilled blood_, he mused.

Her lithe body casually leaned against the vacant doorframe, her angular features coiled into a decidedly amused expression. She was pleased with herself, and his interest was piqued. Again, he silently acknowledged that Victoria was indeed his perfect companion, and once more, he congratulated himself on finding her. Her sadistic tendencies mirrored his own, and her skills were formidable, not to mention exceptionally useful.

He stalked over to her, pausing inches from her face. Splattered remnants of blood coated her skin. It was still sticky and piquant, only hours old. He lifted his hand and slowly trailed a finger down her neck. For a moment, he studied the darkening thick fluid left on his finger pad. While it wasn't the girl's blood, it certainly had a flavor, a _tang_ to it. Without a second more of consideration, his tongue slipped from between his upturned lips, and he licked the blood from his fingertip.

"Tasty, isn't he?" she said, entertained by his reaction. Her crimson eyes flashed and darkened.

How she managed to resist drinking the boy was beyond him. While James was cunning and a superb executioner, his bloodlust was nearly insatiable. If he had been presented with the carnage she had crafted, no doubt his self-control would have been bested. Victoria, on the other hand, possessed immense restraint, not to mention a vicious streak rarely matched. She could tear a human being limb from limb for the pure enjoyment of it, but defy the blood's call. _Yes, very useful indeed, _he concluded with a smirk.

"Very much so," he muttered. "I take it you were successful?"

She ran her red-stained palm along his chest as she hummed, "Oh, yes, quite successful. The boy was weak and presented no challenge. I'd actually hoped for a little more from him."

"Did the girl find him?" he asked.

"I didn't dare risk exposure, so I maintained a position just outside of town, away from the park. But I was more than close enough to hear her screams," she said, her lips turned up at the memory.

"Excellent. I imagine that Cullen found her quickly then, especially considering the package I had delivered. He didn't see you, did he?" he queried as he roughly grabbed her hipbones.

Soiled tendrils of hair swept across his face, tickling his skin. Her slender shoulders shook as her tinkling laugh filled the room. "Of course not, husband. I would never risk us in that way. I left immediately after hearing the girl's discovery."

A dark, malicious glint appeared in his eyes. "I'd have given anything to see Cullen's face when he found her with that boy."

A low, throaty growl rumbled in his chest when he felt Victoria's slight curves press against his body. The thin, bloodstained jade fabric of her blouse concealed virtually nothing. Her round breasts swelled against his chest as his hands tightened on her hips. He leaned into her throat and inhaled sharply. Her faint, sweet vampire smell was almost completely masked by the strong perfume of the blood. Her ruby lips grazed his angular jaw line, and her slender fingers darted underneath his loose cotton shirt. _Bloodshed always arouses her_, he thought with a wicked smile.

Victoria murmured, "As would I. I'm sure that your package sent him into a feeding frenzy. The girl should be dead and drained by now. There is no way that he could have resisted her."

"Agreed, especially knowing her appeal. Tomorrow, I want you to check on our dear Cullen. I need you to ensure his forfeiture," he breathed, as her hand traversed his waistband.

"Mmm-hmm," she hummed against the granite skin of his throat.

He laughed, "If by miracle, he managed to not kill her, I will take delight in the girl's torture, and thus, in Cullen's. In a sense, I almost hope that he didn't kill her."

"Now, I think you deserve a reward, _wife_, for your successes," he snarled. "You have _never_ disappointed me."

* * *

_**December 13, 1949  
2:51 am  
Washburn A Mill Grain Warehouse, **__**Minneapolis, Minnesota**_

Deep into the bowels of the grain warehouse, he dragged the girl.

It was dark and dusty; grain fines literally hung, suspended in the air. He could feel the microscopic granules smacking his skin as he plunged them deeper into the shadows. He could taste the soured, starchy flavor of rotting grain. Considering that, he wasn't surprised by the hacking, wet coughs coming from the girl's lungs.

It had been years since he had seen Edward Cullen, and their last encounter had been _unpleasant._ This would be enjoyable revenge. As he recalled their last clash, his muscles stiffened, and the taut, ribboned cords flexed in anticipation of their upcoming battle. While he was consumed with retribution, his mind was clear, lucid, and calculating. He would win this fight; he would _destroy_ Edward Cullen.

First, however, he would torture him, torture him by killing a girl he could not save. Although, by James's estimation, Edward Cullen deserved a worse fate; he deserved to scream in agony for all eternity. Destroying him and sending him to oblivion would be a favor.

James had watched the girl from afar for weeks, preparing for this encounter. She was a fiery girl, full of spit and curses. Other humans would have screamed in terror or fainted in his presence. Other women would have cried and had blackened tearstains streaking down their cheeks from his abuse. Not this girl. She was different than most.

Instead of proper skirts and high heels, the girl dressed in canvas pants and dirtied workmen shirts. She drank too much hard liquor at unsavory bars, and she laughed at jokes at which decent women would blush scarlet. Two nights prior, he'd watched, thrilled, as she artfully knifed a man in a dark alleyway for groping her. And then he'd observed her as she slipped nimbly away, just avoiding capture. _She was delightful._

Amused, he allowed her to wail against his chest with her pitiable fists, and he merely laughed when she tried to pry his fingers from her wrist. _Fiery, indeed_, he chuckled. It was a shame she had to die.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm going to gut you," the girl screamed.

He pulled her up by the arm until her face was level with his. She had a surprisingly light perfume to her, nearly undetectable. It was another fascinating element to this frail human.

He felt the slight give in her wrist and heard a muffled snap; he had apparently fractured another bone. But her heart rate maintained its rhythm, despite the pain she surely felt in her arm. To his astonishment, she did not fear him. Rather, she was angry, fuming even. He leered at her and said, "My dear, I think if anyone will be doing any 'gutting,' as you so eloquently phrase it, it will be me."

She glared at him with unabashed hostility and spat in his face. "Fuck you," she cursed.

His eyes darkened from deep crimson to coal-black. "Do you have any idea what I am?" he asked coldly.

"I don't care who you are. I will kill you for this," she snapped.

James chuckled darkly. "I didn't ask if you knew _who_ I am. I asked if you knew _what_ I am."

"I don't know what you are talking about. You're a crazy bastard. You belong in an insane asylum. Maybe I'll have you committed instead of killing you, you son of a bitch." Her broken nails scraped across his face, barely a tickle.

Her livid threats were so amusing, alluring even. Never in his existence had a _human_ been so bold and so brazen as to try to intimidate _him_. This girl was…so _appealing_, and briefly, he questioned what type of vampire_ she_ would make. She had potential.

"Vampire," he stated flatly.

Her bright emerald eyes widened perceptibly as his simple word took hold in her mind. The girl's breathing hiked, coupling with the increasing rate of her heart. _Finally_, he thought with satisfaction.

Her wrist twisted again, trying to escape his iron-like grasp. In a wet, wheezy whisper, she accused, "Liar."

"No, my dear, Victoria, I do not lie about such things," he replied evenly, gauging her response.

"You are insane," she returned, too calmly. But the smacking of her heart gave her away. He could smell a just a hint of spiked adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

"Your body believes me," he purred, running his nose along her throat. His tongue lapped over the thin flesh covering her carotid artery. Underneath him, he felt her trembling, and the thudding of her pulse jumped as his contact. _Interesting_.

"I can hear the blood pumping through your heart. I can see it flowing beneath your skin. With one flick of my hand, your arm would be torn from its socket. Do not assume that I will not. I can kill you at any second and drink your body dry," he snarled against her moistened skin.

In startling contrast to his threatening words, her features relaxed as she gathered herself. With her free hand, she tentatively trailed her fingers from the top of his jaw line to _his_ throat, to where _his_ pulse point should have been. The girl's skin was scorching hot; every inch of his skin where her fingers contacted felt as though it was on fire. Waves of heat radiated and rolled across his frame. _Such a different reaction_, he mused.

Her forehead creased, and her head tilted to the side. "Do it," she challenged.

His brows shot up in surprise as he pulled away from her. "Are you really suicidal?" he laughed. "If Cullen manages to get here in time, you just might live. Do you not want to at least wait and see?"

"No," she replied coolly. "You want me. I see it in your eyes."

He eyed her warily, his grip on her wrist slackening. "So, you believe me now?"

"Yes," she replied, all hint of fear evaporated. Instead, he detected…_wanting_. She desired him.

"You want me to kill you?" he asked roughly, his lips curled into a sneer.

Bright red curls caught in a tainted draft current, lifting in the breeze and creating the image of a wild crimson halo around her face. Her pale freckled complexion shone in the dim light; she looked like a vampire, and he wanted her. Instantly, _his_ decision was made, regardless of her answer.

"I want you to make me yours," she smiled wickedly.

James yanked her to a far corner and motioned for her to lie on one of the flattened burlap grain sacks. He brought her slim wrist to his lips, and warned, "This is going to hurt."

Hours later, he watched the girl, writhing in the pain that he remembered well. Her body shook with uncontrollable shudders, and her lips were spread wide in silent screams. Her eyes were clenched tightly shut, and the fine muscles of her forearms protruded, jutting out from her skin. Her fingers gripped and jerked the bristly fabric underneath her. She was clearly in agony.

"Just two days, my dear. And then, you will feel pain no more," he whispered.

Changing her had not been in his plan. He had never intended on anything but slaughtering her and drinking her blood as he would have with any other human. But the girl – _Victoria_ – was different, unlike any other of her kind. She was strong and willful, unafraid of giving or receiving death. She was violent and brutal, and he was intrigued at how the transformation would amplify her already impressive skills. _And she wants me as I want her_, he realized with satisfaction. _She will make a fine companion._

Sitting beside his fire-haired mate, he stroked her face with his icy palms, trying to soothe her blazing death. No, she had not been the plan, but he could always improvise. Gleefully, he rationalized that this new development would serve his purpose all the better. _Cullen will be livid_, he laughed quietly. James smiled widely in anticipation and plotted the impending attack.

From the depths of the darkness, a furious voice rang out, echoing and reverberating against the concrete floor, "What have you done, James?"

"Cullen, so nice of you to join us," James called back, as he rose and stalked to the center of the room. Swirling eddies of pale yellow grain dust followed in his wake, bellowing out in thick clouds.

To a human's eyes, Edward's movement was indiscernible. In the blink of an eye, he streaked from the far end of the cavernous building to a mere twenty yards from James.

Without further introduction, the two vampires began a slow, circling death dance. Both crouched low, ready to attack; both waited to see who would make the first move. James's fingers twitched, begging to wrap around his foe's neck.

Edward was long and lean, lanky almost, except for the hard planed vampire muscles underneath his skin. His bronze-brown hair was in tangled and chaotic from his flight, and his pale complexion set against the deep midnight of his coat gleamed in the muted, hazy light. James knew better than to underestimate Edward. He noted the sickly yellow-amber of his eyes. _He drinks from animals_, James realized, disgusted. _He will be weak, easy to take down_. While he anticipated weakness, James knew better than to count on it. Edward was fast, the fastest he'd ever seen. What he lacked in raw strength, he made up for with lightning speed and agility.

James, on the other hand, was shorter, stockier. His clothing was dirtied and torn, and his mottled blonde hair was long and pulled back in the custom of his origin. While he did not possess Edward's speed, his power and experience was rarely rivaled. He was a formidable opponent to any vampire, especially after feeding.

"This is not acceptable, James. I cannot allow you to continue. You had no right to end her life," Edward snapped.

James deep bass boomed, cackling, "And who exactly are _you_ to lecture _me_ about ending a life? You are such a hypocrite, Edward. You are nothing but a sniveling, weak fraud. You are an embarrassment to the species. It will be a pleasure killing you."

"We'll see about that. Are you going to stand there and mouth off or are you going to actually do something?" Edward growled.

In a flash of blurred limbs, James's body hurled itself across the short distance. In the same instant, Edward darted to meet him. Their bodies crashed mid-air, sending shockwaves through the warehouse. Yellow dust spun in rippling currents away from their tangled bodies.

In a single, quick motion, Edward rolled him, pinning him against the concrete. James felt the floor crack, and deep fissures splintered and spread like a spider web underneath him. His teeth found purchase on Edward's shoulder, and he ripped masses of flesh from his body. He heard Edward's muffled snarls as he felt the excruciating pain of his own flesh being torn. A loud crunch indicated James's shoulder had been dislocated and his vampire bones had been shattered.

With a feral roar, he pressed his body into Edward's, rolling them again. Over and over, they tumbled, bouncing against overstuffed grain sacks and stacks of unused steel girders. Metallic screeches cut through the air, and the thundering sound of vampire bodies colliding reverberated.

His fists slammed into Edward's chest, snapping his sternum. Edward howled in pain, but refused to release his hold. James's fists again pummeled Edward's broken sternum and ribs, and his teeth slashed at his neck. With all his strength, he pounded Edward's face, his chest, and his abdomen. Cracks and sickening snaps resounded in the hollow space.

For a millisecond, Edward's grip released, and a gust of arctic air hit his face. In that moment, James saw his advantage. He grasped Edward's shoulders, and stood, jerking him upright. He swung around like a whip, slinging his foe's limp form. At the arch of his spin, he released the body.

Edward flew across the length of the warehouse, slamming into the far wall and landing in a heap of broken limbs and white, torn and gaping flesh. He was barely conscious, and was in debilitating pain. James was certain that he would not rise. He was an easy target, _too easy_.

James stood over Edward's wrecked body and laughed maniacally. Full of loathing, he spat burning venom at Edward's prone form.

"Cullen, you should have known that you would never defeat me again. I really should tear you apart and burn your body. But I'm not. You deserve a worse fate."

Edward grunted, fighting to contain his agony. "Damn you to hell, James," he said in a voice barely above a breathy whisper.

James laughed again, still exhilarated from their fight. "Oh, I'm sure I will be…eventually, but not today. And neither will you, it seems.

"This has been far too agreeable for me. You are quite the sport, Cullen, far more entertaining than playing with humans. I'm not going to kill you after all. Instead, we're going to play again.

"But, I hope next time you'll be better prepared. Perhaps you should reconsider your diet. It has made you pathetic and feeble. Rest assured, I'm not done with you yet; you still owe me."

Moments later, James streaked from the warehouse, carrying the shuddering body of his new companion. A smile lit his face as he began plotting.


	14. Awakening

_**April 4, 2009  
7:07 pm  
Olympic Peninsula Regional – Forks, Forks, Washington**_

Edward crouched just outside the door of Room 342, his body folded upon itself, leaning against the scuffed matte white wall. To passersby, he was nothing more than any other tired and troubled visitor to an unknown patient. Like many others in the building, he'd been there for hours, and his demeanor reflected the stress of the hospital environment. He had a ragged air about him, like a man who had dealt with too much and was hanging on by a thread.

His arms circled his knees, and his chin rested in the crook of his elbow. Sharp indentions into the pale flesh of his forearms disclosed the force of his fingers pressing down. Edward's hair was wild and disheveled from his fingers' constant nervous raking and pulling. His eyes, circled by darkening purplish shadows, were downcast, studying the white and brown speckled tile. The dark, molasses-like color and the bright red rims of his irises were, luckily, not easily discernible. Regardless, he chose to avert them in the off chance that someone would probe the whys and hows of the odd color.

Moreover, his shame ran deep; over and over, he considered just how close he had been to killing Bella. Each time his eyes found another's, his stomach rolled and threatened to expel contents it didn't contain. His thoughts were on replay, repeating the day's events, trying to determine how he could have made so many mistakes and how blindly and foolishly he had fallen into James's trap. While his body could never really tire in a physical sense, his mind and spirit were exhausted and bruised.

He'd shed his bloodied and ruined clothes hours before and replaced them with a spare set of Carlisle's medicine-green scrubs. While at the moment his thirst was well under control, walking around covered in caked red-brown blood drew too much attention, and it was a too-painful reminder of what almost had been. Even more importantly, considering the trauma she had undergone, he wouldn't dare allow Bella to wake to _that_ image.

So consumed in his own self-loathing and deprecation, he barely noticed the goings on of the hospital. Naturally still as stone, he had to continually remind himself to shift position and to blink to maintain the human charade. It was tedious and just another reminder of the disparity between him and the girl lying unconscious in the room behind him.

White-clad nurses and orderlies scurried up and down the halls; some raced with haste to attend to their patients while others aimlessly drifted, waiting for the shift to end. Rubbery soles bounced against the hard floor, and muffled voices echoed in the long, hollow corridor.

Others' thoughts came to him unbidden, a smattering of anger, sadness, and boredom.

_God, oh why? Why did you take her from me? What do I do now?_ an elderly man cried out at the loss of his wife.

_More stitches? I shouldn't have let her play in those woods again!_ an over-concerned mother resolved.

Coating and rippling through all of their thoughts, however, was fear. News of Jacob Black's murder spread like wildfire in the tiny town. _The Olympic Slayer_, as the local news had dramatically coined, was running rampant, and had now struck their sleepy town, slaughtering one of their own in broad daylight.

When Billy Black arrived at the hospital morgue, Edward had been nearly crippled by shared grief and desolation. Billy had screamed so deafeningly, both internally and externally, that for those first moments, Edward heard nothing but a father's piercing agony. Edward's guilt multiplied and compounded, and he again resolved to do everything in his power to bring James down. His earlier jealousy and dislike of the boy now seemed childish and idiotic, and he felt stabbing remorse. That boy had not deserved to die; _no one_ deserved to die like that, because of _him_.

Charlie's arrival brought with it a surprise, though not in the physical sense – his police cruiser was heard miles away. Rather, Edward had been shocked to learn that Charlie's thoughts were muted; there was yet another human who confounded his gift. He was not as silent as Bella, but he was…_quiet_. Edward could only catch glimpses and strong emotions. When Charlie saw his only daughter lying in the hospital bed unconscious, his overwhelming concern and fear resonated through Edward's mind.

Bella's father stayed at the hospital until the evening, parked in the same stiff vinyl chair beside the bed that Edward had refused to leave but for Charlie. His face was a mask of worry and determination. After an hour of observation and inspection, Edward finally understood; Charlie was vowing to catch the threat against his town and against his daughter.

Bella had been unconscious for what seemed to be endless hours. Despite Carlisle's assurances, Edward was anxious for her to wake. Throughout the day, there had been several false starts; he would hear her heart beat – not to mention the grating and irritating heart monitor – accelerate, or an unintelligible whisper would escape her lips. But just as soon as he was on his feet and beside her bed, she would slip back into her mind-induced slumber.

Prior to Charlie's arrival, as Bella slept, Edward had maintained a constant vigil by her side. He gently stroked the soft, warm silk of her forearm in a long-repressed human manner, trying to soothe away whatever was keeping her in her state. He was stunned at the change in his physical response to her blood. While she still smelled more alluring than the finest perfume, the evil predator inside of him remained dormant. His throat clawed mercilessly in her presence, but the sight of her, bloodied and unconscious, coupled with the memory of her shattering screams, had stilled his body's instinct to consume her.

Instead, he realized that something more potent than her blood held and enthralled him. When he had told Alice that she was 'important' to him, he had heard her responding thoughts.

_Are you in love with this girl, Edward? A human?_ she asked silently. _How do you know her? Why?_

Immediately, he recognized his emotions for what they were. As implausible as it seemed, he could not deny it. He did love this fragile, human girl; he loved her in the eternal, immovable way in which his kind experienced. It was all encompassing, threaded into the very fiber of his being, and it would do nothing but grow stronger over time. And now, he was all the more terrified of losing her, despite the fact that, from his perspective, she could not love _him_, a _vampire_, in return.

"Dr. Cullen, I can't thank you enough for personally taking such good care of my daughter," Bella's father said quietly from inside the hospital room.

"Chief Swan, it's my pleasure," Carlisle returned gently.

Edward heard the sound of rustling clothes and hands uncomfortably digging in pockets. Chief Swan's uniform boots scraped across the tile. Through Carlisle's thoughts, Edward could see the pained expression on his face.

"So, you said it was your boy that brought Bella in?" he asked in a rough whisper.

"Yes, sir. It seems that Edward and Bella are friends of sorts. Apparently, he was bringing her a book or something to the park. It was fortunate that he found her when he did," Carlisle replied smoothly. His voice was kind and compassionate, despite the necessary lie flowing easily off of his tongue.

For a moment, Edward was taken aback. He hadn't even considered what to say if the question were to arise. And it most certainly would; if no one else, Bella would ask. She was far too perceptive to allow something like that to slide.

Charlie exhaled loudly, and Edward picked up a new layer of worry in his thoughts.

"Dr. Cullen, I-," Charlie started. Again, his boots shuffled across the tile.

Continuing in a breathy jumble of words, he explained that he had to leave the hospital and Bella. In a gruff voice, meant to hide his emotion, he said, as Chief, he had to form the search parties and had to lead the hunt for Jacob's murderer.

It was clear that he loathed the idea of leaving Bella alone and unaware, but he also wanted a chance to capture the man that had killed his best friend's son and could have killed his daughter. The protective side won out, and unfortunately, Edward had to allow him to leave. Edward knew that it would have been useless to explain that no human stood a chance at capturing Jacob's killer.

"Chief Swan, I understand completely. Don't worry, we will take care of Bella. She will not be alone for one moment, I'm sure."

"Your boy? Was that him outside?"

"Yes, that's Edward."

As his father and Chief Swan exited Bella's room, Edward stood and carefully examined the man in front of him. Bella had her father's dark eyes, which were currently red and swollen from fatigue and lack of sleep. Her brow line and her mouth were his as well. _And of course her silent mind_, he thought.

"Edward. Um, thank you, son. I appreciate you looking after my little girl more than you will ever realize," he muttered. Charlie Swan was a man of few words, but it was obvious to Edward, that when he spoke, he was sincere. The vague voice of his thoughts agreed with his spoken words.

Edward looked him in the eye and nodded sharply, not trusting his tongue. _It's because of me she is in there to begin with_, he returned silently.

"Dr. Cullen said you were planning to stay?"

"Yes, sir. I won't leave her," he breathed, averting his eyes again.

A tentative arm extended and awkwardly grasped Edward's shoulder. "Thank you, son. Take good care of her, will you?" he asked. His expression mirrored his internal dilemma.

Edward looked up once more and said earnestly, barely above a whisper, "I will, sir."

Watching Bella's father depart, Edward stood, shoulder to shoulder, with his creator. He could hear Carlisle's questioning, and deeper, he heard…_satisfaction_.

_Do you love her?_ Carlisle asked mutely.

It took all of Edward's control to not turn and gawk at his question. He had had no warning from Carlisle's previous thoughts, and he wasn't prepared.

Edward sucked in a ragged breath and resolved to answer truthfully. Glancing nonchalantly down the hall, he tipped his chin down, as he always did for an affirmative answer. To any onlooker, there were no signs of communication; they were simply father and son, standing silently outside a patient's room.

Carlisle's eyes widened imperceptibly as he recognized Edward's response.

_Very well. Do you know why the boy was attacked? _

Still gazing away, Edward's dipped his head. He knew that there would be far more in-depth discussion regarding both of his revelations soon enough.

_Will whoever this is try to attack Bella? Was she the target? _

Edward's eyes flitted to the left. _Yes, and no, _he realized and wanted to say. But that would require more explanation that they could manage in public. After hours of brooding and ruminating, Edward understood what James had intended. The small bag of blood, James knew, would be too tantalizing for Edward to resist. James had assumed that having the boy's blood spilled and covering her, which he had more than perfectly staged, would overwhelm whatever restraint in Edward remained. For the hundredth time, Edward cursed himself and his weaknesses. James had been but a hair's breadth from succeeding and destroying both Bella and Edward.

_Do you know this vampire? I don't recognize the scent on the boy._

Sighing, resigned, Edward's chin dropped, and his eyes fell to the tile. It wasn't James, but Jacob's death had been at James's behest. The scent, he barely recognized; strangely, it was so faint, masked underneath the wild tang of the boy's spilled blood.

Faint strains of sour disappointment colored Carlisle's thoughts, but he continued, _Do you think he has left? _

Edward's eyes shifted left. _No, James is not done, not by a long shot_, he thought, as his balled fist came up and nervously kneaded his jaw.

Carlisle's thoughts flashed anxiously, and his internal questioning was increasingly more alarmed in tenor. He worried for not only his family but for the people of the Peninsula.

_Edward, who is he after? What is he doing here?_

"Me," he whispered.

* * *

_**April 4, 2009  
8:22 pm  
Olympic Peninsula Regional – Forks, Forks, Washington**_

Bella noted that her perpetual haze was slowly evolving to clarity. Sounds were becoming sharper and more focused. She could hear muffled voices, squeaking wheels, and doors clicking shut.

With some effort, she found that she could move her fingers and toes. Gathering her strength, she channeled her efforts into opening her eyes. _Finally!_ she thought, momentarily elated, as she stared up at the white- and gray-stippled drop panels of the ceiling.

Her eyes wildly flickered side to side, taking in and absorbing her surroundings. Quickly, she understood that she was indeed in a hospital. The walls were dull white, almost grayish under the lighting. The matching white vertical blinds were drawn, giving her no indication of time of day. The room had what she'd long ago termed 'the hospital smell,' a nauseating mixture of reheated food, stale perfume, rubbing alcohol, and industrial cleaners.

As realization dawned, her mind spun back to the foggy memories that she had resigned to dreams.

_Edward_. He had been there, in her room with her, holding her hand. He had spoken to her, to her doctor, and then, for some strange reason, to his sister. _Why had she come to the hospital?_ Bella wondered, confused.

_Is he still here?_ she worried. She summoned her voice, croaking out a raspy, "Edward?"

In what seemed like less than a second, his face appeared above her. Her eyes widened in surprise at his instantaneous appearance, but her alarm was short-lived, being replaced by warmth and wonder. He was more beautiful than she'd remembered, and her lips involuntarily turned up into a smile. In response, a broad, lopsided grin stretched across his face, causing her heart to thump against her ribcage. For a moment, she felt a twinge of embarrassment; with the monitor, her reaction was readily apparent to anyone in hearing distance.

His skin literally glowed in the ultraviolet light of the overhead fixture, and random, untamed locks of his hair fell into his eyes. Something was different, however; while she'd monitored his ever-changing eye color before, they now looked darker, more rust colored than she had seen. It was puzzling, but just as quickly as she made the observation, she filed it away as an effect of her medical state. She did the same with his startlingly sudden appearance by her side.

Long, slender fingers emerged from her periphery, and she felt the cold contact of his fingertips brushing the hair back from her face.

"Bella, you're awake. I was so worried," Edward said softly. His eyes were wide and pleading; pleading for what she didn't know.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"You're in Forks, in the hospital. You've been out for several hours," he explained.

Uncertain if she wanted to know but understanding that she must, she inquired, "What happened?"

Edward's dark eyes darted toward the door, and his hand found hers. He squeezed her fingers gently, and his features twisted in indecision.

"You're touching me?" she said, distracted. _He never did that before_, she remembered. _And his fingers are… ice cold._

Abruptly, his hand left hers, and he muttered a shaky apology. She felt the warm air of the room replace the chill on her skin, and she frowned. Where his skin had touched hers, tingling sensations skittered underneath her flesh. It was a disconcerting reaction, but she found she missed his touch the moment it was gone.

Sighing in exasperation, she said, "No, Edward. I don't mind. Actually, well, actually, I like it. It's just unexpected, considering our previous distance."

At her admission, she noticed his expression lighten, and a small smile reappeared. Again, she felt his wintry palm covering the back of her hand and his fingers lacing between hers.

"What happened, Edward? What am I doing here? Why are you here? Please, I need some answers," she whispered, desperate for information. By the end of her inquiry, her voice had roughened and lowered to a barely audible exhalation.

He reached across her, and when he pulled his arm back, she saw in his hand a small bottle of water. Knowing that she was still too groggy and medicated, he lifted the bottle to her lips and encouraged her to drink. If she hadn't been so weak, she would have been flustered by his babying. But as it were, she was grateful. First of all, he was here with her and she wasn't alone in these strange surroundings, and secondly, he seemed to care for her. Her previous, private admissions of her feelings for him had not been lost during the course of her blackout.

Satisfied, he set the bottle back down and gazed at the far wall, saying nothing. Instinctively, Bella understood what he was doing; Edward was stalling, but she needed answers.

"Edward?" she pressed, as her fingers tightened around his.

His dark eyes – _such an odd color_, she noted once more – met hers. His mouth dropped open as if he wanted to say something, but snapped shut. His brow furrowed sharply in hesitation, and then again, his lips parted.

Cool breath washed over her, his peculiar scent of honey and…_sunshine_, as he began. With evident consternation, he told her how he had found her unconscious in the park. When he mentioned Jacob's name, she internally and visibly flinched, remembering.

"Jacob. He's dead?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Her limbs felt numb and heavy.

"Yes, Bella. He is. He was…" he replied, his tone melancholy and dejected.

"I know…don't say it," she exhaled. Her eyes clenched shut, trying to hide from the images.

Disbelieving, she shook her head side to side. "I don't understand."

Edward continued, explaining that he'd brought her to the hospital, how long she'd been out, and he told her about Charlie's visit.

At the mention of Charlie, her father, Bella's breathing accelerated and the heart monitor swiftly beeped the racing rhythm of her heart rate.

"What is it?" he asked, perplexed. "Are you hurt? Should I call Carlisle?"

She blinked rapidly and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. "I-, I just can't stand the thought of him being out there, hunting whoever or whatever it was that killed Jake."

As she verbalized her concern, Edward's expression darkened. He looked almost angry. More images assaulted her, and she thought back to all of their interactions. Something felt wrong, like she was missing something very obvious and important.

Edward was so different from other men she knew, or people in general, for that matter. His mannerisms, the clenching jaw line, the tight eyes and angled brows, the grinding teeth, the balled up fists; they all told her that he waged some unspoken internal battle. And his other behaviors, like his speech and cadences, were..._off_. They reminded her of the old black and white movies she and her mother used to watch on Friday nights, or of the antiquated fictional characters she studied for her degree.

He was remarkably intelligent and seemingly knew everything about everything. He spoke with fluidity and grace, routinely staggering her with his insight. He didn't act his age at all. _How could someone so young know so much about so many topics?_ she speculated.

His appearance was different as well. While he dressed the part, albeit more put together and formal, the way he wore his clothes felt older and more mature than his years.

Edward was almost inhumanly beautiful, with perfectly angled and chiseled features. His skin was the palest she'd seen, whiter than hers. It was glass smooth, yet hard; it seemed impermeable, unlike her own. And it was so cold that if he didn't speak or breathe, she would have guessed him a corpse.

Of course, there was also the strangeness of his eyes. Inexplicably, they changed day to day. While everyone's eye color shifted depending on background and light reflection, no one she'd ever met exhibited such dramatic alterations, black to gold to pale yellow, and now, to dark rust.

Other small things, things she'd dismissed or forgotten, trickled through her mind. Edward never ate around her, despite their long hours together. He never drank. He never excused himself from her presence. In the store, she had watched him lift heavy items with such ease. At the time, she'd been too focused on her own discomfiture of needing the help. But thinking back, he was strong, almost unnaturally so for his thin frame.

Then, there was that first day. After days of consideration and contemplation, she was certain that the blurry vision of white and bronze racing away from her store had been Edward. _No one_ ran that fast. Alice and Jasper had known he was there, and they had behaved strangely, almost fearfully.

Other fleeting moments confirmed her suspicions. One afternoon, she called to him from across the store, and he'd spun around so quickly she hadn't been sure that he had been facing away. Another time, he'd caught a dropping water bottle milliseconds before it hit the floor.

Lastly, while she had been out of it and barely conscious, she remembered the feel of cool wind whipping her face when she had been bundled up against his chest. _He carried me to the hospital, not walking, but running, _she grasped_. _

"Bella?" he called nervously, breaking her from her silent deliberation.

She started, having forgotten their conversation in the midst of her meditation. His face had changed again, concern plainly evident. His eyes bored into hers, probing, as if they could somehow pull answers from her simply by looking deeply enough.

She knew what questions she needed to ask. And they would not wait.

"Did you kill Jacob?" she asked hoarsely, terrified of an affirmative.

His brows climbed his forehead, and he looked at her aghast. "No! Of course not!" he exclaimed.

Inside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd suspected – no, _known_ – that he couldn't have, but it had to be asked.

"Why would you ask me such a thing?" he queried, his fingers gripping hers too tightly.

Ignoring his response, she plowed ahead with an even more pressing query. She wasn't sure how to ask properly, barely believing she would consider it. In fact, all she had was a vague notion, not even the beginnings of a concrete hypothesis. But her observations would not stop spinning through her thoughts.

"Edward, are you…are you human? Like me, I mean?" she asked in a small, scared voice. Her eyes squeezed shut both out of embarrassment for her surely ridiculous question and in unfounded fear of his response.

To her shock, she heard a sharp, ripping intake of breath. She fully expected him to laugh or to tell her that she was crazy or still dazed from her medication. But Bella heard nothing of the sort. Instead, she heard a low keening whimper of pain. Edward's eyes were squinted shut, his face contorted, wavering between anger and agony. The hand that wasn't intertwined in hers was curled like a talon around the cylindrical metal framing of the hospital bed. The aluminum was beginning to cave under the pressure of his grip.

"Edward?" she asked anxiously. The heart monitor skipped and stuttered, exposing her emotions.

His expression settled, resigned and exhausted in appearance. He looked like a man who had just run a marathon or who had come off a twenty-four hour shift. His hand released the metal frame, leaving finger-shaped imprints. Slowly, he scanned at her prone form, lying beneath the white hospital sheet, and then his eyes met her eyes.

In a single word, he confirmed her fears.

"No."


	15. Proof

_**April 4, 2009  
9:58 pm  
Olympic Peninsula Regional – Forks, Washington**_

Bella's eyes opened wide in shock, clearly not expecting his answer.

"Wha-what?" she stuttered.

The hand that wasn't resting in his gripped the thin hospital sheet as if it were a lifeline, grounding her in reality. Her heartbeat climbed to a pounding rate he'd not heard before, and the sharp taste of adrenaline spiked the perfumed air. The piercing blare of the heart monitor echoed in the silence of the room, a fraction of a second behind the wet thump that only he could hear. Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest lifted from the lungful of air she held.

Edward averted his eyes, looking at anything but her. For the thousandth time, he scanned the small space, noting the slightest detail, trying to distract himself. He didn't know how to continue, how much to say, how much to reveal.

He had not anticipated her question, but the moment the words left her lips, he knew that he would not – _could not_ – lie to her, no matter how much he wanted to do exactly that. Once she knew the truth, she would, no doubt, scream in terror. The thought of her disgust and fright left a sour taste on his tongue. His fear and apprehension mirrored hers, albeit due to very different causes.

Uncertainly, he muttered, "You're very perceptive, Bella. No one has ever come close to the truth before."

A glean of cold sweat dotted her forehead, and the palm resting inside his felt slick and clammy. _She's terrified_, he thought miserably.

"Please, please, don't be afraid. I will never hurt you, Bella. I swear to that. I _can't _now," he appealed in his smoothest, calmest tone. Gently and soothingly, he stroked the silken skin cupped in his hand.

The velvet of his voice belied the tumult within. Inside, just the mention of hurting her nearly sent him into a tailspin. Lurching and bending, he steadied himself by concentrating and focusing his eyes on the microscopic cracks in the enamel coating the bed frame. His gaze followed the labyrinth of black lines, seeing the spidery offshoots and dust-filled pits.

"I do-don't understand, Edward. What are you?" she stammered.

In that instant, he hated himself, hated what he was. He despised the revulsion and loathing that he expected to witness when he admitted the truth. He hated the fact that he wasn't like her and that he could never be what she deserved or needed.

In a very human gesture, he sucked in a deep breath of fragrant air, trying to rein in his emotions and to steel himself for what he knew would come. Her wretchedly sweet perfume was as luxurious and rich as ever. Taunting him, as if proving his point, his throat ignited into brilliant flames.

_Fitting_, he acknowledged. The inferno was just another searing reminder of what he was and of the temptation to which he'd almost succumbed.

In a voice so low and so roughened by self-loathing that he wasn't sure if she could discern, he whispered, "Vampire."

Despite his low volume, the two syllables crackled in the air. He could have very well shouted the word from the depths of his lungs.

A thick, anxious silence filled the room. Bella's face was frozen in a stunned mask of alarm. He watched, still and cautious as her dry, chapped lips spread into a small 'O'. Her pupils dilated almost to the point to which the chocolate of her irises was indiscernible. Another wave of adrenaline stabbed his nostrils, and Bella's heart rate smacked an irregular, stuttering rhythm. In an effort to compose himself, he began counting each resounding thud.

"Bella?" he pleaded tentatively. "Please, say something."

"I'm sorry, what?" she asked, blinking rapidly as she looked up at him.

If there were ever a time that he wanted – no, _needed_ – to hear her thoughts, it was at this moment. His frustration mounted, and his free hand threaded through his wild hair and tugged anxiously.

"Did you hear me?" he asked nervously.

Seeing no change in her demeanor, he continued, hoarsely repeating, "Bella, I…I am a… vampire."

"Impossible," she muttered under her breath, as her fingers began picking the fabric of her thin hospital gown.

He wasn't sure what to do or how to reply to her denial. Arguing with her would be pointless. A demonstration of his strength seemed overly dramatic, not to mention it risked frightening her further. As he considered the conundrum presented, however, he was not surprised by her reaction. He should have anticipated it.

_Of course, she doesn't believe me. We're myth, fairytale. Bella is educated and intelligent; she is not a member of the superstitious masses_, he mutely chastised.

Her mind was racing; even without the mental context, he could see that she was flipping through their encounters, looking for proof one way or another. Her eyes were staring opposite his direction, trained to the long folds of the blinds. Her lips pursed tightly enough that their normal pink stretched to mottled pale nude and cream white. As if to slap him in his face, her cheeks colored, flushed from the blood pulsing through her veins.

She suddenly looked back at him squarely in the eye, russet gemstones probing into his. Her chin jutted out as if in challenge as her eyes narrowed. Without warning, she jerked her hand from his, and she hissed, "Prove it."

After what seemed to be an age, her words registered.

"What?" he asked, incredulous. He, both in mind and body, recoiled from her rejection. The absence of her warmth felt alien, and immediately, he regretted his lack of tact.

"Prove it. Show me what you are," she said almost angrily.

"Bella, come on," he returned, trying to quell her ire. Edward did not like the direction in which this conversation was heading.

"No, Edward. You can't just pop in and say, 'I'm a vampire,' and expect me to just be okay with it," she spat sarcastically, as her hands flailed around in irritation.

_She certainly has a point_, he allowed. A war raged inside his mind. How much she could handle was at the forefront of his thoughts. Scaring her was an intolerable option. But she wanted to know.

"Very well," he replied, submissive to her demand.

Looking around the room, he debated what proof she would consider appropriate, yet civil enough not to petrify her. Recalling the aluminum railing of the bed, his hand drifted and found one of the side supports. Barely pressing, he felt the metal inside of his curled fingers give and bend. A faint metallic screech alerted her to his actions. When he pulled away, the inch-diameter tube was completely depressed, the two outer edges stamped together in a hard-angled 'V'.

"See?" he breathed, glancing down at her.

"What? Okay, so you are strong. How does that prove you are a vampire?" she grated. Her forehead creased and her skin heated from her anger.

She wasn't frightened of him…_yet_; that much was evident. Instead, she was angry, a reaction he certainly did not foresee. Frustrated, he palmed his forehead and scrubbed his face as he considered his options.

In less than a second, he was standing on the other side of her bed, having traversed the length of the room. Bella's eyes would not have been able to follow his flight; to her, it would appear as though he were standing in one place one moment, only to vanish and reappear in another.

"Here. I'm over here now," he called, drawing her attention.

As her head whipped around, long strands of perfumed hair smacked against his flesh. Seeing him, her eyes boggled, and the heart monitor spluttered a disjointed staccato beeping.

Wanting to further confirm his point, he flashed around the bed again and stopped in the same spot he'd just left.

"Bella?" he asked.

Again, mahogany curls lashed his skin as her head turned. Her jaw slackened, and he could see the wheels turning. Desperately, she was trying to make sense of what she'd seen. She appeared confused and shocked, but it still wasn't obvious that she believed him.

"Give me a moment. I think I know what will finally prove that I'm speaking the truth," he said quietly, as he turned on his heel to exit the room.

His eyes swept the hall, looking for prying eyes. Seeing only a handful of lingering nurses at the far end of the corridor, he darted to the surgery supply closet at the opposite end. The space was unlit and cramped, and the noxious smell of recycled cardboard and menthol-laced medicines filled the air. With his acute vision, after only a moment of rummaging in the dark, he easily located the boxes he knew would be present.

After what had been no more than thirty seconds, he returned to her room. So as to not startle her, he slowed to a human walk as he approached her hospital bed. Bella sat motionless, precisely in the same position in which he had left her.

"Bella?" he asked.

Her eyes looked up to meet his. Her expression was neutral, almost numb in appearance. _So much_, he recognized. _This is so much to take in, especially after what she's already experienced today_. Intently, he wished that this conversation could be postponed.

His deadline, however, was fast approaching, so there was precious little time to waste. Having her know the truth, regardless of what she chose to do with that knowledge, would make protecting her all the more straightforward.

After having removed the protective plastic sheath, he carefully held out an unused scalpel, handle toward her. The smooth stainless steel reflected the ultraviolet light overhead, throwing slivers of white-purple light against the wall. Swirling remnants of steel passivation chemicals still speckled the metal surface, invisible to the human eye, though not to his.

"Hold out your hand, Bella," he commanded softly.

Out of her daze, her hand obeyed him, and he placed the instrument in her palm. Her gaze dropped, and she stared blankly at the sharp blade.

"I-I don't understand," she murmured through closed lips.

Hesitantly, he raised his bare forearm to her and ordered, "Cut me."

Her brows knitted together and then climbed to her hairline as she processed his words. Her slender fingers cinched around the stamped grip as if she were handling a snake.

"What?" she exclaimed. "No! I can't do that!"

"You won't hurt me, Bella."

"No!" she nearly yelled.

Edward sighed, and then pried the scalpel from her grasp. With steady determination, his eyes fixed on hers, he pulled the knife along his granite flesh. Against his skin, the blade wobbled and flexed, and then snapped in two. The broken metal skittered loudly across the tile and landed in the corner of the room.

A sharp gasp of air cut through the tense silence in the room.

Not waiting for further response, he tossed aside the ruined blade and grabbed another from the box he'd carried in with him. As evidence of its authenticity, he dragged the razor-sharp instrument across the white bed sheet. The fabric easily came apart in a perfect split. Taking the same scalpel, he raised his arm and pointed it tip down into his wrist, watching her distressed expression. Slowly, such that she could follow his actions, he brought the blade tip to his skin and pressed down. Like the other, it snapped almost immediately.

Gently, he whispered, "Do you believe me?"

Her dark eyes finally met his, cogent and understanding, and she nodded, having no other reply.

For long moments, they simply stared at each other, neither knowing where to go or what to say. Again, he knew she was thinking, pondering what she'd seen. Fretfully, she gnawed on her lip, and her hands wrung.

Just as he opened his mouth to beg her to say something, _anything_, her lips parted, and she asked in a tentative voice, "Do-, do you kill people?"

He smiled indulgently, sympathetic to her timidity. "No, Bella. I don't. Once, many years ago, I did. But not now," he replied calmly, eyes watching her warily. He fully anticipated his admission to send her into a fearful frenzy. Instead, her pupils fluctuated, and her teeth halted their assault on her bottom lip.

"I don't understand, Edward. What do you eat?"

"Ever the insightful one," he chuckled mirthlessly. _Of course, she would be curious about that._

Sighing loudly, he replied, "Animals, Bella. I-, my family, we eat animals. We hunt. Their blood sustains us."

"Oh, I see," she replied politely, clearly _not_ seeing.

"Yes, Bella, we do drink blood just like your myths. But _animal_ blood," he explained in a detached voice. Speaking about his diet with her was unsettling at the highest level. He felt like an animal, like a soulless and uncivilized miscreant explaining his basest nature to an angel.

Bafflingly, her features relaxed, and she nodded. "I've never heard of that," she whispered, seeming almost puzzled.

He'd vowed to himself to be honest with her, no matter the consequences. She needed to know the real truth of his world. "Not all of us drink from animals, Bella. Some…some others of my kind prey upon yours."

The word 'kind' felt slimy and soiled as it left his tongue. Time after time, he was reminded of the inequality between them. She could never return his feelings, not even by a fraction. Hoping for that was useless and unrealistic.

A visible shudder undulated down her frame. But as quickly as it rippled, it passed. Instead of screaming, as he'd predicted, she continued her inquiry.

"Don't yo-… Wait, how is it that you come out in the daylight?" she asked, her tone full of sudden astounded curiosity. Her heart rate surprisingly decelerated, and her breathing returned to an almost normal depth and pace.

At that particular question, one he had definitely not expected from her, he laughed outright. "Myth," he replied between guffaws.

"But don't you sleep?" she continued, not sharing his mirth and still pressing to comprehend.

His amusement faded. _To sleep perchance to dream_, his mind quoted, unthinking. _Such a simple desire, one that she could not fathom._ _Decades of never-ending night, days strung together, no aspect of passing time. No dreams of worlds I will never know, no dreams of wants that cannot be fulfilled, _he reflected.

Longingly, almost wistfully, he replied, "No, Bella. I haven't slept in a century."

She had no response to his answer other than another mute, bewildered nod.

"And your family?"

"Yes, we're all vampires."

Repeating the word to her did not make it easier. In fact, each time it was spoken, his worry of her reaction compounded. It was the loaded gun in a game of roulette. At some point, it would fire.

"May I touch you?" she asked shyly, as a delicate blush crept up her neck.

Bella's train of thought was a pure mystery to him. It was all over the map, illogical and impossible to follow. How she had progressed from asking about his diet of blood to wanting to touch him made little sense. Yet if she wanted, she would have.

He watched in awed silence as her slight hand approached his arm. Lightly, as if they were brushing feathers, he felt her finger pads trace along the back of his hand and along his forearm. Her expression was almost comical; it was as though she were a child with a new toy or a kitten, tentatively stroking, afraid to cause damage. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and her tiny, white teeth pressed into the soft pink of her lips.

For endless minutes, he basked in her willing touch. Her skin felt like the smoothest silk, and her body was like a blazing fire, radiating heat and warming him. Standing as close as he was, he knew that his body temperature had risen, a direct result of her convective heat transfer.

"You're so cold," she spoke softly, as she pushed her fingers between his. Involuntarily, he inhaled, startled by the warm pressure surrounding his flesh. His lids slid shut, relishing the feel of _her_.

Tenderly, he lifted her hand and placed it on his throat, to the point where his pulse would be, were he to have one. Guessing his intent, her fingers pressed against his immovable skin, and her eyes darted up to meet his.

She gasped, "No pulse."

"No," he answered plainly.

As her fingers crept along his neck up to his face, his eyes opened wide, only to find that she was intently staring at his features. Hesitantly, she traced the bones of his jaw, his chin, and then the line of his nose as she mulled his revelations. Gently, almost as if she feared hurting _him_, she outlined the purplish bruises underneath his eyes and lightly stroked his eyelids. When her fingers threaded into his hair, his scalp prickled, and a shiver ran down his spine.

Nothing Edward had experienced prepared him for the feel of her hands on his face. He blissfully allowed her to explore, savoring her every contact, branding it into his faultless memory for all time. The wonder in her expression was palpable. And her hands upon him felt almost reverent in their touch, although it should have been the very opposite.

No one had ever touched him in this way before, and for a brief, fleeting minute, he felt hopeful and joyous. He marveled that she wasn't afraid of him, although she should have been. She was intrigued and…_accepting?_

He longed to return her touch, longed to stroke her face and cup her cheeks and gather her slender body in his arms. Just as he'd seen a million times, every part of him ached to lean down and brush his lips to hers. Her heartbeat called to him and rang through his limbs, not with bloodlust, but with something far more human in nature. He wanted to love her in any way she would allow if only she could return a small portion of his affection.

_But, of course, she had not heard the worst, not by any measure_, he reasoned, his eyes tingling with tears that he physically was unable shed. For that moment, however, he allowed himself to wish and to be lost in the sensation of her touch.

Abruptly, her voice sliced through his awareness. "You said that some of your kind preyed upon humans."

It wasn't a question; she stated it as fact. And her statement hit him like a lightning bolt, searing away that minute splinter of momentary hope.

"Yes," he answered truthfully, dreading what she would ask next.

Her head bobbed up and down while she formulated her response.

"All those people? The man in Hoquiam? Port Angeles?… _Jacob?"_ she asked, fear suddenly apparent.

He pulled away from her and turned away, unable to bear the look on her face. Silently, he grieved over the loss of her transitory acceptance. _How can I answer this?_ he dejectedly debated.

"Edward?" she repeated, her voice, an octave too high. "Wa-was it a vampire?"

His blood-tarnished eyes creased tightly shut as he watched her lips turn down into a pained expression.

Choking, he rushed a gravelly, "Yes, Bella. It was one of us. Not my family, but one of _us_."

She reacted immediately. As soon as his affirmative sank in, her body curled in on itself, her knees pulling up under the sheet to press against her torso. Her arms wrapped around herself, likely trying to contain the effect of his answer.

Time slowed for both of them. He watched, horrified, as her small frame began rocking back and forth, a motion that he knew to be self-preserving.

"Be-," he started.

"Why?" she rasped.

His body responded as hers had; trembles raced through his body, and a heavy, thick lump settled in his forever-aching throat. His vision blurred and shifted before focusing on the miniscule imperfections in the black script on her medical chart. Fragrance pulsed through air with her shallow breaths, saturating the small room, and her heartbeat throbbed in his ears, drowning out the incessant blare of the machine following it.

His voice faltered and strangled. "He is after me, Bella. Through you, he wants to destroy me. All of his plotting and scheming is meant to target you. And he will kill anyone in his path.

"My task-, no, my _whole world _now revolves around keeping him away from you. He will never touch you; that I will swear my entire existence upon."

"I don't understand, Edward," she countered, her voice breathy and tremulous.

"This is a game to him. His sole purpose is to draw me out to fight him. He believes that I deserve his torture, that I owe him. I wronged him many, many years ago. And he has never forgotten. He knows that by targeting you, by trying to _kill _you, I will invariably face him to protect you.

"James is evil, cunning, and sadistic. His planning knows no bounds. He targeted you months ago, before I ever knew you."

"Months," she mouthed silently.

"Bella, I'm so sorry. I can't tell you how sorry I am that you are involved. If I could offer myself up to him and know that he would leave you alone, I would. But I will finish him; I will make sure that he never does this again," he stated in a hard, determined voice. Edward's hands curled into tight, balled fists, longing for physical release.

"Bella, I will not allow him to hurt you. I couldn't live with myself otherwise. Just thinking about the possibility hurts me beyond your comprehension."

Her rocking had ceased before he spoke his last words, and she began mumbling unintelligibly under her breath. It was as if she were repeating some phrase over and over. Her eyes were wild and unfocused, brimming with unshed tears, and her breathing approached hyperventilation.

Suddenly, distinctly, her mumbled rambling became coherent.

"That does not happen in a damn car accident!" she whispered again and again.

As he reached out to touch her, her eyes flashed and became lucid and furious. Her head snapped up, and loudly, she yelled, her voice tight and gurgling in her throat, "Get out! Get the hell away from me!"

For a moment, he was staggered, not understanding the shift in her response. He had clearly gone too far and had revealed too much. But then, he took in her words and comprehension dawned. She had put two and two together faster than he had.

The lump in his throat sank to the pit of his stomach and swelled. Heavy, weighted pressure from within his chest suffocated him to the point of sheer agony. His knees weakened and felt like rubber, threatening to collapse under him; his whole body felt gelatinous and feeble.

Knowing it would be fruitless to dispute her request, his head hung in disgrace and remorse. Sharp daggers of pain shot through his limbs.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so very sorry," he breathed hoarsely.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed in a tear-choked moan, as tears poured down her cheeks.

He turned and lumbered to the door, his limbs feeling heavy and drained. Before he crossed the threshold, he spun, looking at her again. His musical voice, thick with emotion, carried across the small space.

"Bella, I will not leave you. No matter what, I will never leave you. You don't have to speak to me or even acknowledge my presence. But I _will_ protect you. I will not allow you be harmed in any way. If you need me or want to talk to me, you have to but whisper my name and I will be at your side."

He watched, desolate and despairing and useless, as her body crumpled to its side and shook in soundless sobs.

* * *

_**April 6, 2009  
2:38 pm  
Quileute Prairie Cemetery, La Push, Washington**_

She heard yet did not listen as the minister spoke lines of solace and of comfort. Familiar Bible verses and poetic phrasing wandered in and out of her consciousness, reminding her of the last time that she stood in a cemetery. Only this one was wet, and it was raining. The last cemetery she recalled was hot, dry, and brown, like any other spot of ground in Arizona.

She gazed down at the wet, mucky earth piled underneath the pad of green carpeting, as if it could camouflage, as if no one knew that that mound of mud would soon cover a coffin.

There were so many people there that she did not know. Most could have been Jacob's brothers or sisters or aunts or uncles. Tall or short, plump or thin, their skin was luminous and dark, and their hair was jet-black and stick-straight. High cheekbones and broad foreheads marked them as relatives, fellow tribesmen. It appeared as though the entire Quileute tribe had come out in respect and support of its fallen member.

When the songs were sung, women cried and huddled together in masses of mingled colors and patterns, lamenting their loss. Men wore stony, stoic faces that looked angry and vengeful. Children tugged, not understanding, at the hems of their mothers' dresses.

Others by the gravesite were like her, pale and wan, outsiders but still friends. The sounds of weeping and sniffling came from all around her; she felt as though she were drowning in their sorrow.

Bella stood between her father and one of the Quileute women, dressed in the same drab black dress and low patent leather heels she'd worn to her mother's funeral. She'd not put _that _dress on since that miserable day, but it seemed fitting for this occasion. While the rest of the people there were burying Jacob, she was silently burying her mother…_again_. Only this time, she knew the truth behind her death.

Bella's tears over Jacob had long since dried out; she had spent the last two days holed up in her father's tiny house battling fits of sobs and angered outbursts. Her father hadn't understood, simply believing her reaction was the result of loosing Jacob, and probably more so, the aftermath of finding his body. He didn't understand; he didn't know the truth about her mother and about Edward.

Standing in that cemetery, watching Jacob's shiny black coffin being lowered into the dark opening, she cursed Edward Cullen, spitting his name in derision and loathing. _This was his fault._

Dimly, she recognized her father's arm snaking around her shoulders in an awkward embrace. Consolation had never been his strong suit, but he was trying. Smiling half-heartedly, she returned his hold, tightening her arm around his waist, latching onto anything for support. They said nothing, instead opting to offer what comfort they could in silence.

Deep inside, a quiet, pained voice called out, reminding her of Edward's vow in the hospital. She fought the urge to look around, to scan the tree line. He'd said that he would be with her, watching over her and protecting her. She wondered if he was keeping true to his word and if he could see her at that moment. She wondered if she'd simply imagined it all.

Realization sunk in and permeated her awareness. She hated herself in that moment because despite her fury, she longed for Edward's touch. Her spirit vividly recalled the soothing coolness of his hands and the tingling rush that his touch elicited. Images of his perfect face burned behind her lids. Even with her new knowledge, despite her loss, her forlorn heart had not forgotten _its_ promise.

She snapped her eyes shut, fighting an unwelcome welling of tears. This time they were not in despair, but were instead the manifestation of frustrated confusion and indecision.


	16. Introspection

_**April 5, 2009  
1:16 pm  
**__**Just outside of town, Forks, Washington**_

"What do you mean, 'the girl is alive?'" he grated, his voice low and menacing.

Even through the static-filled cellular, she could hear the venom spittling between his teeth as he seethed the words.

His voice cut through her carefully masked composure, rendering her motionless and on edge. James was livid. And as such, he was exceedingly dangerous, more so than usual, when he was so focused. This sleepy peninsula would be reeling by the time he was finished. For James, anger equaled feeding, and feeding meant uninhibited slaughter of anyone or anything in his path. Nothing, no amount of blood, could sate his bloodlust when he was rampaging. In past rages, she'd seen him take down entire families in broad daylight, children and infants included. He showed absolutely no compassion, no restraint, no remorse, and _no one_ could stop him.

This new development was not what he'd intended. Despite his earlier enthusiasm over the potential of the girl's survival and the further damage he could effect, Victoria knew that James had wanted her dead and mutilated by Cullen's hand. He wanted that more than anything else. Now that his plan had been thwarted, he was disappointed; James did not handle disappointment well.

"I'm not sure, husband. But somehow, Cullen resisted her," she replied, cool and with forced calm.

With Cullen hovering over the girl like a nervous mother hen, she could not approach the hospital to see the girl for herself. But the two nurses Victoria had _questioned_ told her more than enough to piece things together. Cullen had clearly developed some affection for the girl, something beyond his typical guilt-driven protective attachment. This certainly complicated matters; it would make him hot, ruthless, and unpredictable. As a rule, he was as cool as ice. This change required that they pay very close attention for signs of retaliation. But his connection to the girl could work to their advantage. Now her death would, beyond all doubt, completely annihilate him. James would find some measure of satisfaction in that development.

"How did this happen?" he roared.

Her ears rang with the deafening bellow of his fury. A screeching, shattering crash followed his words; it sounded as though he'd smashed through one of the cabin walls. When she returned, she predicted that there would be little left standing of the already dilapidated building.

She waited to respond, knowing that he was mired in the angry aftershocks of his outburst. Through the smudged window, she could see oblivious humans drifting along the sidewalk, behaving as though nothing were out of the ordinary. A teenage boy, no more than fourteen, kicked a bright chessboard soccer ball down the street. Her ruby eyes followed the twirling ball's flight until it popped off of a nearby building face and careened into the shaky legs of a passing toddler.

It was amusing watching these humans interact. The toddler's short and slightly plump mother shouted epithets and shook her fist at the boy, as if her rebuke held merit. The auburn haired boy, tall and lean, merely rolled his eyes when his apologies were poorly met. These humans were petty and inane in their self-importance and self-indulgence. They went about their daily lives, ignorant to their surroundings, unaware that they were being selected for culling. To Victoria, they were little more than cattle, food and sustenance. _Although I do certainly enjoy hearing their screams_, she added with a sneer. The old adage, "Don't play with your food," came to mind and gave her a dark chuckle.

"Do you mock me, _wife_?" James asked irately, hearing her amusement.

Immediately, she was called back to the present. "Of course not, husband. There are humans nearby. You know how they can be," she purred, hoping to assuage his annoyance. These humans would pay dearly if she were chastised further. The boy already was on her menu. But two or three more would not be a problem. If anything, it could prove beneficial to…_vent_.

Slowly, the fire in his voice cooled to wintry ice. His tone was calm and smooth as glass; she could see him standing in the midst of the destroyed room deathly still, strategizing and calculating. As she relayed the news of Cullen's attachment to the girl, she heard slow building rumbles of satisfaction.

"Excellent," he crooned, a stark contrast to his previous wrath. Thoughtful, he murmured, "This is, in fact, most fortuitous. He took what was mine, and I will take from him. An eye for an eye."

Victoria smiled, pleased. "Yes, husband, Cullen will suffer. And his toy will suffer, as well."

"Find Laurent and tell him to meet me at the cabin," he ordered. "We have much to discuss."

She hissed in approval, her crimson eyes glowing brightly in the shadowy room.

Hearing his tone, she could see the telltale wicked sneer on his lips. "I will be paying a visit to our quiet little town very soon, very soon, indeed. It's time to introduce myself to our dearest Isabella."

An hour later, she trailed behind two boys. The first she'd selected earlier from her hidden perch in the old abandoned building. He was lean and gangly, just on the cusp of manhood, his body in its earliest transition from chubby childhood to the more muscled lines of maturity. His hair fell in a messy sorrel mop, sweaty and tangled from their impromptu soccer game. Splotches of mud caked his bare calves, and red-pink scrapes decorated his knobby knees and elbows. The wind shifted, and his salty fragrance washed over her. He smelled delicious.

The other boy, no older than twelve, was short and rounder, a smiling, smaller version of the older boy. _Brothers_, she thought wickedly. Her nostrils flared as the younger boy's scent replaced the other. He was sweeter, more succulent. _Two fine meals_, she smiled.

Silently, she stalked them, keeping to the shadowy tree line. Tall, wet, beryl grass whipped at her ankles, and prismatic droplets of rain rolled off the thick, leafy growth, dotting the deep burgundy of her overcoat. The smell of rain and black, rotted leaves permeated the air, masking the boys' perfume. She could taste the bitterness of freshly turned earth and of decayed animal remains buried deep in the forest. Hearing the wet double thumping of two racing hearts, her throat burned in anticipation. She hadn't appreciated how thirsty she was; their blood would be a welcome quench.

The boys laughed and dribbled their little ball back and forth along the empty road, oblivious to the threat at their back. They were alone, out of earshot, and her acute hearing ascertained that no cars were in range. _Perfect_, she cooed.

"Boys?" she called in a soft, sing-song soprano.

Startled, they turned, two pairs of hazel eyes widening in disbelief. The older boy's expression was suspicious and wary, whereas the younger one merely smiled stupidly, as if she were some new friend with which to play.

"Um, us?" the tall one asked, nervous and surprised at being addressed.

"Of course!" she purred, as she swayed toward them. "A gentleman back in town asked me to come fetch you. He said he was your coach."

The youngest blurted, "Who are you?" His expression was wondrous, wide, and filled with awe. He was mesmerized by her vampire beauty and flaming tendrils whipping in the breeze.

_Clever boy_, she smiled. Quickly, she scanned her infallible memory, recalling the boys' shouting and teasing that had filtered through the thin walls of her hideaway.

"I'm Seth's older sister, in from college. I was watching you practice earlier," she replied reassuringly. She flashed another wide smile and closed the remaining gap between them.

Their brows rose, disbelieving, but they were too dumbfounded by her appearance and attention to voice their concerns. Even the older boy was frozen and speechless, thumbing the navy of his polyester athletic shorts.

She held her hands out to grasp theirs and winked. "Come now," she hummed.

They were hot little creatures, and she could feel their blood pumping wildly beneath her touch. Their hearts flew, thrumming like two hummingbirds' wings. The parched burn in her throat was uncomfortable, scraping and clawing; she needed to end this quickly and neatly.

Her irises flashed to black. "Come here, little one," she said to the young boy, her teeth gleaming with slick venom. "I want to look at you."

* * *

**April 8, 2009  
1:58 pm  
**_**Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

It was a slow afternoon at Newton's, not what she had hoped. Since she'd arrived that morning, there had been no more than twenty customers, most of whom had been regulars who required little assistance. And unfortunately, the front displays and the shelved goods were as tidy as she'd left them the week prior. After three hours of scrubbing virtually every flat surface in the building and going over the front glass until it literally sparkled, Bella was out of tasks to do. For the third time that day, she aimlessly thumbed through the Patagonia and ExOfficio racks to ensure that all of the jackets and shirts were in order by size. The sparse hiking shoe stands were of no help; they, too, were perfectly stacked and organized.

Despite the slow traffic, being at work was still preferable to the alternative. Sitting alone all day long in her father's home had been intolerable. With little else to occupy her mind, Bella had spent hours upon hours mourning both her mother's and her friend's deaths, as well as pondering Edward's revelations about his…_kind_.

It had been two days since Jacob's funeral, and she was no closer to making a decision regarding what she would do with Edward than she had been the moment he had left her hospital room. That night, lying helplessly on her side, crying into the starched fabric of her pillow, had been one of the worst nights of her life. The vision of his hunched shoulders and bowed head still haunted her waking and non-waking dreams. His expression had been one of pure, unbridled pain, pain that she had inflicted upon him with her rejection.

She hadn't meant to lash out at him as she had; he'd merely been close by and she'd still been reeling from their _discussion__._ The moment Edward told her that this _James_ had targeted her months beforehand, she knew, with no question or pause, that he was responsible for the death – no, _murder_ – of her mother. That realization, the confirmation of months of theory, suspicion, and guessing, had nearly crushed her. While false, a car accident was more palatable and livable than the idea that she had been specifically targeted for her association.

Desperately, she had wanted to hang on to the anger, fearing that the lifeless despair she knew so well would replace it. Bella needed someone to blame, someone to punish for her loss. She needed an outlet, a scapegoat, someone who she could point to and say, "You took my mother." Unfortunately, Edward, the man she had unquestionably fallen in love with, had been the bearer of the news, and more so, he _was_ partially responsible. Even in her blinding outrage and misery, however, she realized that he was not the primary culprit. In fact, from what little she knew, he was a victim, as well.

His words from the hospital echoed in her ears, and she shivered at their allusion.

_He is after me, Bella. Through you, he wants to destroy me… His sole purpose is to draw me out to fight him. He believes that I deserve his torture, that I owe him._

The thought of Edward no longer living – or whatever it was that he was or did – was startling and sobering. Sharp, biting shards of pain shot through her chest and abdomen when she thought back to their long conversations, his lopsided grins, his vibrant laughter, and more so, the way she felt when he murmured her name. Against her better judgment, she allowed herself to momentarily relive his otherworldly fragrance and the stinging sensation of his marble skin beneath her palms and fingertips.

Touching him had been almost too much to bear. The way he responded to her touch, the soft sighs and piercing gazes, rippled through her bones. His skin was like ice, smooth and as cold as death, but somehow, when she traced his nearly flawless features, her fingertips had been hot, almost burning. His odd, ancient eyes had seared into hers, boring and digging; it was as though he could see into the depths of her soul. There were no misgivings that his words were real and sincere; his expressions had told her everything that his words had hinted. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he felt something for her. And that something was real, profound, and strong. Therein lay the crux of her contemplation, for she felt the same.

Bella shook her head, trying to clear it from the intoxicating and too-tempting memories. Regardless of her feelings one way or another, there were still so many questions unanswered, even those beyond the issue of her mother and Jacob and this sadistic nemesis, James. The base concept of Edward being inhuman, _not alive_, over a century old, was something that she still could not wrap her mind around. His displays of speed and strength and invulnerability were bold and constant reminders that he was not like her. _But a vampire?_ she questioned, still not quite believing. _Even if I were to forgive him, where does that leave us? Are we not wholly incompatible? _

With all of this, the stress, the revelations, the questions, the confusing love she felt for this _vampire_, the verily unbelievable new reality into which she found herself unknowingly and unhappily thrust, she needed a distraction. She was tired of being depressed, of feeling guilty, and of being angry. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, she was shot.

"Bella?" Mrs. Newton called, her body hidden behind one of the backpack displays.

Startled, Bella's head whipped around to the front of the store, searching for the voice. "Ye-yes? Mrs. Newton?"

"Yes, dear. Look across the street over there. Isn't that your young man? The one that's been visiting you?" she asked, straightening at the hip and waving out toward the street.

"Why on earth is he standing over there? Should I ask him to come in?" she continued, undisguised intrigue coloring her voice.

Bella's head bobbled, and her hands wrung in discomfort. Hastily, she stammered out a poor and contrived reply, "N-no! Um, that's okay. I-, well, we aren't on the best of terms right now. He's fine. Just where he is."

Scurrying to the back portion of the store to escape his scrutiny, she considered, stunned, _Oh, God. Is this what he meant by protecting me? He's going to follow me like this? We're back to this?_

The back cashier's counter appeared to be a reasonable and logical place for her to station herself. Edward was slightly to the left of his previous perch, hidden deeper in the awning's shadow, so the position was just out of his line of sight. Nervously, she leaned over the tabletop, propping herself up with her elbows. Her hands twisted, clasping and unclasping, fingers lacing and unlacing, as she studied the faux marbled patterns in the beige Formica. After a moment, she realized that her breathing was wheezy and fitful, and her lower lip was already splitting from the press of her teeth. She wished that she hadn't worn her lavender top; it was too bright and too contrasting against the forest greens and beiges that flooded the outdoorsy room. She wanted to hide.

Mrs. Newton's voice rang out in loud, boisterous guffaws. She sighed, still chuckling, "Young people! Well, I'll certainly give you this. He is a persistent devil. He's been there for at least an hour. Probably more."

_Probably all day,_ Bella thought discontentedly.

As the afternoon wore on, Bella occasionally snuck from behind her post, attempting to catch surreptitious glimpses of him, curious of his appearance and demeanor. Each time her head would peek around a corner or display, she would look up, however, only to find Edward's eyes trained directly to her, almost as if there were a steel cable connecting their respective gazes. It was unnerving, yet at the same time, it gave her a modicum of comfort. It gave her solace in that his words were truth.

Even through the glass and from across the distance, he didn't look good. His shoulders were curved inward; his posture and stance made him look like a whipped animal. Flipping in the wind, his hair was a mangled mess, likely due to his incessant tugging, a mannerism that she had noticed that he assumed when anxious. Rumpled and wrinkled, it looked as though he'd not changed his clothes in days, and his expression was one of clear, exhausted misery. His lips were drawn into a pinched, rigid line, fighting a display of emotion. Forehead creased and eyes pleading, he silently called to her for forgiveness.

She couldn't prevent the regretful sigh that escaped her lips. The burning in her fingertips returned, waiting and wanting to smooth away his pain. It was a failing of hers; hanging on to anger and resentment did not come naturally. Instinctually, she wanted to do the opposite.

By mid afternoon, she was drawn to the window yet again, only this time by the sound of loud voices, seemingly arguing. Edward's, she recognized immediately. Despite the physical barrier between them, its liquid velvet consistency bit into her consciousness. The other voice, she couldn't place.

"No, Emmett! I'm not moving from this spot," Edward grated, irritated and hot.

The other man – Emmett – was a large, muscled man. The white of his t-shirt stretched tautly across meaty, hard planes, and he towered at least four to five inches over Edward's already tall frame. Oddly enough, his face, however, had the softness and roundness of a boy, complete with short brown curls and dimples. She hadn't seen him before around town – that much she knew – but from his complexion and unearthly features, she recognized that he was another one of _them_.

A deep bass rumbled from his chest, "Edward, you listen to me! You have to leave her at some point. You have to hunt. Look at you! You're a mess!"

"I don't care! I will not leave her. I swore to her that I would not."

The large man groaned heavily, "Look, I'll stay here and make sure she's okay. Despite your crazy, lunatic behavior and despite the fact you still haven't come home to tell us all what the hell is going on, I'll stay. You go, take thirty minutes. Just go out to the outskirts of town and take care of business. I won't leave. I won't let anything happen to her."

"I-, I can't, Emmett," Edward replied, his tone losing some of its heat.

"Shut up and go. Stop being a pain. But I swear, you resolve this and let us in. I will not allow Rose to find you like she did that last time. That still haunts her."

Emmett's features softened as he took in Edward's response to his words.

"When are you coming home?" he continued, his voice suddenly full of concern. "We'll help you with this, Edward. Let us."

"I know. As soon as I figure out how to keep her safe, I'll come home. But keeping her alive is not something I will gamble with, even for a moment."

Looking around, their volumes dropped such that their words were barely discernible. She could only make out disjointed phrases, mostly from watching their lips and their gestures.

"One of us…James…I knew him when…," Edward said with a huff.

Emmett's brows raised in alarm, as he responded, "Before? How many…Does Carlisle…Damn it, Edward…Why?"

Edward's shoulders slumped, and his lips moved. "Very complicated…I'm ashamed to go on…Yeah…she's going to kill me…want nothing to do…I won't contest…I'll leave if…I don't know how…"

"But Edward, how do you know? What if…or you said how many?... You can't be certain…How dangerous is he?" Emmett returned, his volume rising with his unease. His fists were balled, and long, thick cords of muscle along his forearms strained against his wash-white skin. His jaw line was set hard, and all appearance of boy-like charm disappeared. _He looks like a vampire_, Bella thought with a shiver.

"Absolutely lethal," Edward said sharply, his tongue slapping each syllable.

* * *

**April 8, 2009  
4:09 pm  
**_**Newton's Sporting Goods Store, Forks, Washington**_

Admittedly, Emmett had been right; Edward had needed to hunt. Even though it had only been days since he'd last fed, his irises were blackening and the scorch in his throat was becoming more than merely uncomfortable. He didn't quite understand why he needed to feed so often; in the past, hunting every two weeks had been sufficient. No doubt, it had something to do with the almost irresistible perfume of Bella. Even as he knew his body was no longer at risk of disobedience to his mind, his throat still burned for her.

In addition to quenching his thirst, refueling with fresh animal blood would help drive away the shameful red rims and tint of his eyes. Looking at himself in the mirror, seeing the evidence of his sin had been maddening. After destroying two mirrors in self-directed rage, he refused to look again until he was sure that they were once again an innocent light ocher.

He was still surprised that his family had not pressed him for more information regarding the telltale coloring. For the thousandth time, he was thankful for their unwavering and unconditional support. By his estimation, however, it was undeserved and based on falsehoods. Regardless, beyond question, he knew that Carlisle and Esme would always love him as a son. As for the others, he was less certain.

Hunting had only required a quarter of an hour, and each second of that time away had been fraught with worry and agitation. He trusted Emmett implicitly, but watching over Bella was his task – no, his _duty_. Furthermore, in spite of her denunciation and blame, he felt some degree of comfort in seeing her, even from afar.

Within moments of stepping into the forest, he'd fortunately caught the trail of a large bull elk. Minutes later, mindlessly, his razor teeth snapped through thick hide, sinew, and finally, vein. He drank quickly and without taking even a moment to savor what little taste the beast offered. But for the time being, the fire in his throat cooled to a dull ache, and his strength was replenished.

As quickly as his feet could carry him, Edward had flown back into town, only slowing once he'd breached the tree line. As he looked around, he realized that he could have probably run all the way back to Newton's. The town was virtually empty, the wet, black streets devoid of the normal traffic and sidewalk pounders. People were afraid to leave their homes; they were terrified because there had been neither leads nor suspects in Jacob's murder. _There never would be_, Edward accepted.

His conversation with Emmett had been unpleasant and unexpected, but Edward instantly realized the necessity. He could not divulge everything that he knew was needed on the street, out in the open and without all the family members present, but he could share the most critical points. Oddly enough, it had been somewhat of a relief to off load even the small portion of the guilty history he carried with him. Emmett would, without fail, relay the essential information back to the family in his absence, enabling Edward to stay close to Bella. The family would be put on alert, searching for any sign of James or other vampires. And of course, Jasper would begin defensive strategizing and possibly would even start scouting the area preemptively.

Within an hour of Emmett's departure, the family would know James's _modus operandi,_ how he kidnapped and murdered humans, how he drew Edward out by way of appealing to his guilt, how he selected his victims. They would know that Bella was his target and why, and that the murders on the Peninsula were all related. They would know that James never played his games fairly or alone. And hopefully, they would understand how truly deadly he was as an opponent.

Edward took some measure of satisfaction when Emmett had offered a semblance of understanding and sympathy when he'd dejectedly explained why he hadn't included his family years ago. Emmett understood the concept of wanting to keep loved ones safe and away from harm. His normal jovial and light personality darkened immediately when he had deduced that Edward's injuries from the last round had been at the hand of James. There was no denying the seriousness and potential consequences of the situation at hand. Including the family put everyone at risk.

He leaned back into the shadows once more, eyes and mind fervently scanning for any sign of James or any of his other coven members.

_Such a sad girl. I hope that boy didn't break her heart, _a mind sighed from within the store_. And she was so happy, such a change from when she first came in. She's clearly in love with him. And from the way he's been standing out there all day, I think he's in love with her._

The wistfulness and sincerity of her voice, coupled with Mrs. Newton's vision of Bella, pierced his concentration and formed into a thick, suffocating ball at the base of his throat. Through imperfect eyes, he could see Bella balanced on a shaky pine barstool, her slight hands wringing anxiously atop her knees. She stared off, unblinking and focusing on nothing in particular, her eyes dark and swollen from lack of sleep…_and probably worse_. She was preoccupied, thinking of what, he could only long to know. Whatever it was left her contemplative and despondent.

His head hung, and his eyes traced the miniature fault lines in the sidewalk. Centering his focus on some meaningless object or scene kept him from looking at her, either through his eyes or through Mrs. Newton's. Each time the front door opened and closed, however, his body involuntarily huffed deep, full breaths, trying to pull Bella's scent into his being. It was a fiery reminder, but somehow, with his iron lungs full of her fragrance, he felt closer to her. His eyes pricked as he realized, _Seeing her and smelling her is all I have_.

At ten minutes until six, he both heard and felt her. Her heartbeat was racing, why he couldn't fathom. But it was thundering in his ears, vibrating through his entire body. It was so loud, so overwhelming, that the sound of her footsteps was nearly masked.

He watched, half terrified and half elated, as she paused, hands on the metal push bar of the glass door, and looked directly across the street, meeting his stunned gaze. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and gritted her teeth. A second later, she hesitantly pushed through the door and began walking toward him.

_It's about time!_ Mrs. Newton huffed, her mental voice hopeful in tone.

The breath he had been sucking in caught in his throat, and his eyes widened in alarm. With each step, her footfalls grew more and more determined, and her gait sped. Head down and with arms crossed, she stopped, just short of him, no more than two feet away.

_She looks so tired_, he noted. _Like she hasn't slept at all._

Bella's pale skin appeared more translucent than ever, just barely hiding the pulsing veins beneath, and her chestnut eyes were circled by grayish shadows, much like his own. Slight creases lined her forehead from the hours she'd spent in anger. All in all, she looked exhausted; beautiful and perfect as ever, but exhausted.

But then, Edward knew she hadn't been sleeping. When he'd told her that he wouldn't leave her, he'd meant it with every fiber in him. He hadn't entered her bedroom, feeling that entirely too inappropriate, but he had certainly parked himself just inside the forest by her home. With his fine hearing, he'd heard her tears and soft whimpers. Time after time, he'd wanted to go to her, to comfort her, in any way she'd allow. But he'd been bound and determined to respect Bella's wishes and to not press himself into her life unwelcome.

He didn't know what to say, what to do. They stood apart, each looking away, for what seemed like an age. With each passing second, the air between them charged and crackled, palpable in its thick discomfort. He wanted to say something, apologize, beg for forgiveness, anything just to hear her speak in return. She had approached him, however, so he waited, trembling with anticipation.

After another long moment, her face lifted, and her eyes found his. The moment their gaze locked, her features softened, all signs of anger dissipating.

His unbeating heart jolted to life as she sighed, "Oh, Edward, what are we going to do?"


	17. Understanding

_**April 8, 2009**_  
_**6:31 pm**_  
_**Home of Chief Charles Swan, Forks, Washington**_

Moments after they departed the store, another spring thunderstorm arrived, one that covered virtually the entire Peninsula in a layer of thick, shadowy clouds. With it, came torrential downpours, falling in hard, sideways-blowing sheets. For human eyes, visibility was mere yards. Edward's eyes were, of course, a different matter. In front of the line of houses, fast-moving rivers of muddied water filled the ditches, threatening to overspill the banks and flood the roads and the drives.

In a mad dash, they darted from Bella's truck to the small covered porch of her father's home. Waiting for her to unlock the door, Edward faced the street and inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the staggering concentration of her scent that he knew he'd encounter inside. Outside, the air smelled wet, earthy and clean, all traces of sulfurous pollutants, as well as human aromas, washed away.

He watched the racing rust-colored water; rivulets and eddies bubbled and gurgled, creating red-brown swirls on the water's surface. Speckles of shed bark, jade colored grass clippings, and flecks of shredded white litter flowed and trailed atop the currents. In an odd sense, it was mesmerizing. Coupled with the cacophony of natural sounds and the freshness of the air, it made him feel almost human. For just a minute, he didn't hear the ever-present sounds of nearby neighbors' minds nor did he smell Bella's too-tempting fragrance. Despite his trepidation of their imminent conversation, one he was loath to continue, he allowed a moment of relaxation.

Inside her house was an altogether different situation. As he'd surmised, just as it had been in the cab of her truck, her scent clung to everything, and its potency was excruciating. While his throat burned, there was, however, no concern whatsoever of him losing control; that demon had been exorcised by poured blood and curdling screams. But the days absent from close proximity had taken their toll, robbing him a measure of the desensitization he'd built up before the incident with Jacob. It would take some effort and time for his body to rebuild that level of tolerance.

He stood perfectly still in the center of the dated living room, eyes shut, inhaling deeply through his nose. His mouth settled into a hard, pained line, and his teeth ground from the exertion of swallowing back the thick pool of venom. After a moment, his tinted eyes opened to find Bella staring at him, clearly troubled by his reaction.

"Just give me…a moment," he exhaled, holding up his forefinger in a request for her to wait.

Quickly, forcing the inferno again, he gulped down several full breaths of perfumed air, this time through his mouth. Each breath felt like sandpaper to silk, like a scorching hot fire bellowing from the tip of his tongue down to the pit of his stomach. But after a few minutes and several more lungfuls of air, the blaze waned to a more bearable steady burn, and he found he could speak again. Inwardly, he was pleased with himself and his body's response. _With enough time, I'll be immune_, he wished, but not really believing.

"I apologize, Bella. It…_you_ take some getting used to. It's going to take me a few hours at least for my body to familiarize itself again," he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear.

She cocked her head to the side, and she eyed him warily. Her palm found its way to her hipbone, resting just over the waistband of her worn jeans, her elbow jutting out. Were it not for the circumstances at hand, he would have found her stance endearing.

"Explain that, please," she asked. Despite the politeness of her tone, Edward recognized that her statement was, in actuality, more a demand than a request_. I owe her whatever she requires_, he repeated, reminding himself to be patient and truthful. _Regardless of the outcome, she deserves nothing but the truth._

Waiting for his answer, her brows rose high, crinkling her normally smooth forehead, and a tight huff escaped her lungs. Saying nothing more, she sat down on the wide sofa, perched on the edge, with her hands clasped together and folded between her knees.

Stalling, he sighed and stared at the smattering of old photographs lining the dark cherry-stained mantle over the rarely fired hearth. A five-year old Bella, bedecked in a miniaturized white graduation cap and gown, smiled a toothy grin and stared back at him with wide, earnest eyes. _So innocent_, he lamented.

Slowly, he walked around to the other side of the couch and sat, his body angled toward her. Nervously, he palmed his chin, searching for the right words, words that were honest yet not terrifying. Frustrated that there were no such words, his fingers dug through his hair and into his scalp.

"Remember when I told you that I don't kill people, Bella?" he asked quietly.

Nodding, she whispered, "Yes. Yes, I recall that." She shifted to face him, leaning back against the cushions and tucking one leg underneath her.

"I don't. I haven't killed anyone in many decades. That, I promise to you. But despite not doing so, I'm not saying that I don't, or rather, my body doesn't find the scent of humans…_appealing_. I just choose not to partake."

Continuing uncomfortably, he said, "In many ways, we – vampires - we're like animals. We rely on our sense of smell to find prey more so than our other senses. And certain scents appeal more than others."

Her eyes narrowed and her brows knitted together as she absorbed his words.

"I see. So, what you are saying is that _I_ smell appealing to you?" she asked in confusion.

He leaned down, elbows resting on the tops of his denim covered thighs. Mortified, his eyes slid shut once more, and he hid his face in his palms. Muffled against his flesh, he mumbled, "Yes. You could say that. Although that would be a drastic understatement. For me, the fragrance coming off of your skin is nearly maddening in its call. In the beginning, its allure was almost intolerable."

After a moment with no response, he cautiously opened his eyes and lifted his face to take in what he knew would be her horrified expression. Instead, to his bewilderment, he found her in distracted contemplation, her forefinger lightly tapping her bottom lip. Before he could continue, however, suddenly and inexplicably, her eyes widened and warmed.

A small, knowing smile graced her lips as she said, "Now I understand. That's why you wouldn't come near me at first?"

Hesitantly, he smiled at her quickly deduced conclusion. Carefully, he replied, "Correct. It took considerable effort for me to be within twenty feet of you. I almost didn't…"

"You wanted to kill me?" she asked softly, looking away.

"Yes," he whispered, all traces of his earlier smile disappearing.

"What changed?" she responded, staring at him once more, eyes large and gleaming. It felt as though she were looking into the very depths of his soul, weighing him. Inexplicably, her heartbeat thumped a steady rhythm, uncomplaining of his glaring admission. She waited patiently, unspeaking and unmoving.

He breathed in to steady himself, and in a low, roughened voice, he exhaled, "Everything, Bella."

Quietly, he explained how James selected humans to lure him out to fight, how he inevitably met him to defend, and how he both won and lost these matches. When he described the battles he'd lost, how he was injured, Bella's features contorted in horror. She wasn't afraid of him; she was afraid _for_ him.

When she asked, he told her that he'd tried many times to locate James ahead of their fights, to stop this war before it claimed another life. Somehow, he always slipped away, always remained in the shadows, undetected and deadly.

"I suspect it has something due to his mate, Victoria. I don't know for certain; I've had little dealings with her, but I think she must have some gift that enables them to move about unnoticed."

"Gift?" she said, turning the phrase over in her mind. Her eyes flickered in understanding, "Do you have a gift?"

He grimaced at her perceptiveness, "Yes."

With consternation, he admitted, "I can…hear people. I hear their minds."

A gasp echoed in the room. Suddenly, Bella's eyes boggled, and a gurgled choke caught in her throat. Her heart rate ticked up in time, and a dark scarlet flush crept up her neck. "God, no!" she mumbled under her breath.

_Of all things to terrify her about me, this is what she responds to?_ Edward mused, confused and slightly exasperated. While he could not hear her, he did have a strong suspicion of her reaction. It was an invasion of privacy to the utmost degree, he confessed. His nature in and of itself should have been of far greater concern, yet she took _that _seemingly in stride.

Reassuringly, he clarified, "But not yours, Bella. I can't explain why or how, but your mind confounds me. I hear nothing from you, I swear it. While I wish it otherwise many times, you are the first whose mind is silent to me.

"So, don't worry about all of the insults you've silently hurled my way," he said, chuckling, attempting to assuage her discomfort.

After a moment, seemingly pacified, her taut features relaxed, and the blood slowly drained from her face. A small half-smile mirrored his, and her racing heart slowed.

"You're saying this Victoria has a gift. Like yours?"

"Yes, like mine in a sense. Some of us have extra talents, but rarely are they the same."

He continued, answering her question more fully, "Jasper, for instance, senses and can influence emotions. And Alice, she has some ability to see the future. It isn't precise, but it comes in handy on occasion."

"I'd imagine so," Bella replied, staring over his shoulder. Anxiously, she pushed a stray strand of rain-dampened hair behind her ear, and she fingered the hem of her lavender blouse. "Did she see me?"

"Not in the sense you might be imagining. For the most part, she sees other vampires and more so, those close to her. I believe she saw something with regards to you, but I couldn't get much from her when I tried. Over the years, Alice has become adept at blocking my talent," he said, smiling at the end in amusement, as he recalled her various literary and scientific soliloquies, all meant to drown out the thoughts she wanted to hide.

As they spoke, the clouds opened once more. Clattering rain pelted off the aged asphalt shingles above, the echoes suddenly roaring inside the small house. As the minutes passed, thunder popped, and flashes of purple-white light littered the darkened sky, lighting the windows. Blasts of wind whipped under the eaves, jarring and rattling the faded siding of the small house.

With each clash, he watched, alarmed, as Bella looked about the room, as if she were searching for hidden danger. Her arms reached around her chest, hugging herself tightly, and faint, rippling shudders passed through her limbs. Fervently, he wished her fears away; he wished that he could shield her from all of this, from his world.

He pleaded, "Please don't concern yourself. I swore to you that I'd protect you, that I'd allow nothing to harm you. I won't."

"Why, Edward?"

"Are you asking why you were chosen by James? Or-," he started, unsure of what exactly she meant.

"Well, yes, I am interested in understanding that at some point, but really, why go to all the effort? Why are you so intent on protecting _me_? Why do you care?"

Her eyes bored into his with an intensity that he hadn't anticipated. They were demanding, pleading, and hopeful at once. For a short moment, he drowned in her gaze, everything else fading into a fuzzy background. He could feel waves of heat radiating across the short span between them, and the sound of her shallow breathing raked over his ears. Every part of him wanted to gather her in his arms and never let go.

Evenly, seriously, he answered, "Bella, the idea of you suffering in any way pains me beyond all comprehension. I-, I don't know how to say it, how to describe…I simply can't bear it."

Wordlessly, she lifted herself from her position at the end of the sofa and resituated just next to him, half-turned to face him. He watched, mesmerized, as her arm slowly extended, and he started when her fingers brushed his hand. Her skin was so hot; where her skin had pressed against his he felt a heat as searing as the scorch in his throat.

"You care for me?" she asked, looking down at where their skin touched. Her voice was just above a whisper.

He choked at her forthright inquiry. This topic was as difficult as any other, but for very different reasons. A fluttering of nerves settled in the pit of his abdomen as he considered his response.

"Yes, Bella. I care for you. Very much so," he rasped with undisguised longing, diverting his face down and locking his gaze to the carpet. A hundred shades of beige and brown and cream swirled together, twined in the short, thick nylon fibers. Looking across the room, he could see faint outlines of footprints, one large set and one small, indicating where Bella and her father traveled.

Risking a glance back up, he found a wide smile, wider than he'd seen since Jacob's death, stretching across her cheeks. Her cheekbones were lifted, and her smile extended to her eyes.

"What?" Edward asked, not understanding.

He felt her silken finger pads tracing a misshapen infinity loop along his forearm, and then he felt the hesitant motion of her arm threading underneath his and through the crook of his elbow. She looked up at him and her fingers wound themselves between his, encasing his hand in warmth. As in the hospital, he was flooded with emotion and want.

"I care for you, as well, Edward," she whispered. "More than I probably should."

At that moment, Edward's sharp hearing detected the sound of Bella's father's police cruiser no more than a half mile away. He cursed the timing, wanting the time and chance to revel in her admittance. It was so much more than he'd dreamed; he wanted this moment to never end.

"Your father," he murmured against his desire. "He'll be in here a moment. I should go."

Her eyes widened in panic and her breathing became shallow.

"I won't be far. I promised you that I would not leave you vulnerable. _Ever_," he vowed to her. He'd spent many hours outside her home, watching, listening, and considering how best to keep her safe. This night would be no different.

"But-, but it's raining. No, it's pouring. Where are you going to go? Your car isn't even here," she stammered, worried _for him._

"Bella, rain cannot hurt me at all. Trust me, I'm fine," he replied with an amused smile.

"No," she answered curtly, pulling her hand from his. Her expression was firm, immovable, and immediately worrying to him.

Shortly, he responded, "Bella-,"

"No, I meant I won't allow you to be out in the rain all night. I can't stand that thought. Will you stay here? With me?" she appealed in a small, unsure voice.

This time, it was his turn to gape, stunned and shocked by her request. Gladly, gleefully even, he would stay with her, would do anything she asked. But the fact that she wanted him there, that she didn't banish him from her presence, that _she_, with all her kindness and perfection, cared for _him_, a dark and damned _vampire_, was too much. The words would not come, so he could but dumbly nod.

Pink tinted her cheeks, and she flashed him another irresistible smile, "Good. It's settled then. My room is upstairs on the left. Make yourself comfortable. I have a few things to do down here, but I won't be long. There are still things left unsaid. Is that okay?"

He nodded again, still not possessing the means to respond.

He rose from the couch as she did, cautiously following her lead. She motioned for him to go upstairs and walked across the room, preparing to meet her father at the door. But then, he watched, frozen, as she spun around and darted back to him. As if in indecision, her eyes shifted back and forth, and finally settled back to his.

Without warning, she lifted up on her toes and palmed his jaw with her hand, her thumb gently smoothing the stone flesh of his cheek. He could feel her breath, hot and moist and fragrant, washing over him. Nervously, she teethed her bottom lip. His own breath caught in his throat, and the air around them seemed to thicken and sizzle. Almost as if in a dream, he watched, wide-eyed, both enthralled and petrified, as her face approached his. Her lips, pink and hot, brushed against his but for a moment. Before he could react, however, they were gone.

"Now, go upstairs. Shoo- before my father walks in," she whispered, as they heard the sound of keys jingling.

* * *

_**April 8, 2009  
9:27 pm  
**__**Home of Chief Charles Swan, Forks, Washington**_

_What am I doing?_ Bella wondered, as she cleared the dinner plates.

She was still in awe of her boldness. Disbelieving, she replayed the scene over and over, pausing each time when their lips had connected. Like the rest of him, his lips were ice cold and hard as stone. It was as though he were a living, breathing, white marble statue. Despite the chill of his skin, however, her lips buzzed from the heat of his touch. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to sprint upstairs to continue where she'd ceased.

What had propelled her to do such a thing, she couldn't place precisely. It had not been simply his words, but more so the conviction and desperation in his intonation. He cared for her deeply; it was as plain as if he'd shouted it. While the words were not said, she read the emotion for what it was, for it mirrored her own: _love_. As such, she could not quite regret her actions, regardless of their forwardness.

Despite this new dilemma, she was frightened almost to the point of catatonia of James and of what she'd learned. And she was still distraught and confused over how she felt about Edward's involvement in her mother's death. It was all so much to take in, and it was so difficult to accept.

But clearly, Edward had suffered as she had. When he'd told her about the injuries he'd sustained, she'd felt sick, and her body had trembled at the image of him torn apart. After that disclosure, her anger had shifted away from Edward and almost entirely to James. She wanted James to pay, for everything; for her mother, for Jacob, for all of those other women, and especially for Edward, she wanted James to die…painfully if at all possible.

"Bella?" her father asked from the entryway into the kitchen. "How are you holding up? Was everything okay at the store today?"

Bella responded with a half-hearted smile and the truth, "I'm doing better dad. Today, today was better."

Before he could delve further, she asked quietly, "How about you?"

Against the pale yellow of the kitchen walls, her father looked sallow and drawn. There were dark, almost black, bruises circling his eyes, and his brow line was wrinkled and tense. His eyes were flat and red from lack of sleep, and his shoulders were bowed.

She noted that his dark green uniform pants were sprayed with reddish-brown dots and his normally polished black shoes were caked, most likely with mud splatter from the search party's treks into the forest surrounding the town. Suddenly, Edward's warning and descriptions of James hit her, and she was almost frozen in terror for her father's safety.

"I'm okay, Bells," he sighed. "Just tired. And we still don't have any leads on those two kids that came up missing. Mrs. Crowley is hysterical."

He sighed, "To be honest, I'm not hoping for much. I don't know what we're going to do. The whole Peninsula is searching. It's almost like we're looking for a ghost."

Numbly, she nodded, not trusting her voice. She wanted to scream and to beg for him to stay home and to stop hunting James. If James could kill her mother, her father was surely at risk. Just as her mouth opened, he spoke again.

"So, have you seen any more of that young man from the hospital? Edward?" he asked, trying to change the subject after seeing her anguished reaction.

His discomfort with the topic of dating was blatant, and hers was no less transparent. Her motions stopped, and she nearly dropped the plate she was rinsing. Recovering, she grabbed a nearby sponge and scrubbed the plate a second time, centering her gaze on the raised white swirled pattern along the edges.

"Um, well, yeah… sort of. He came by the store today," she answered quietly.

"He seems like a good kid, Bella. And he seems to like you quite bit," he continued, frowning and glancing at the worn linoleum flooring.

Bella cleared her throat, buying a few extra moments, as she considered her response. Knowing as she now did Edward's unnatural sense of hearing, she worried about how much to say, what she _could _say. She needed to talk to Edward about many things.

"I think so, Dad. I, well, I like him, too," she managed. _No, I'm in love with him, but I don't know how to tell him that. And I'm still not sure how I feel about that myself, _she wanted to cry.

Uncomfortably, he scratched the back of his head, and his nose crinkled. "Well, okay. Um, I'm glad, Bella. I want you to be happy. You deserve it. You just make sure that boy takes care of you. I'd hate to have to shoot him or something."

She couldn't prevent the soft chuckle that escaped her lips as she considered the scenario, grateful for the momentary distraction from her fears. Awkwardly, she gave her father a swift hug, and told him that she was going to head off to bed early, citing a long day at Newton's.

Before going to her room, she opted to take care of her normal nightly duties so that there would be no further interruptions. Her normal shower time was shaved nearly in half by her haste, and she threw on the first pair of pajamas she'd found in the stacks of clothes she had folded and left in the laundry room that morning. She'd hoped that the warmth and massaging water jets of the shower would quell her tension, but the reprieve was only temporary. As she finished her nightly routine, her thoughts raced.

She paused just outside of her bedroom door to gather herself, listening to the steady tinkling of rain overhead. Thankfully, the lightning and thunder had abated, leaving only soft, soothing rainfall.

Before she turned the knob, she took a deep breath, trying to control the racing of her heart and the panting of her chest. Part of her was fearful that Edward hadn't stayed after all, while the other was fearful that he had. Nevertheless, as she entered the room, she trained her eyes to the long, pale wooden slats of her floor.

Unhurriedly, she turned and spent an extra second latching the door, before diffidently turning to face the room.

Her eyes immediately focused on Edward in the wan lamplight, sitting stock still in the old hickory rocker in the corner of her room. His back was straight against the chair back, and one of his ankles crossed over the knee of the other leg. His pale, too-perfect features were set directly on her, his expression unreadable. With some unidentified emotion, his amber eyes gleamed, and a thumb stroked his bottom lip.

Soundlessly, he rose and padded across the room, stopping inches from where she stood. Unconsciously, her lungs inhaled, filling with his peculiar scent of honey and sunshine.

"I'd like to try something, if you don't mind," he whispered.

Slowly, almost reverently, his arm rose, and the back of his hand glided along her cheek, from her temple to her chin. At his contact, her heart thudded a disjointed, pounding rhythm against her ribcage. In that moment, she thought she saw a slight twitch of his lips. _Of course_, she thought. _He can hear everything._

Awestruck, Bella watched through half-closed eyes as his other hand came up and knotted into her wet hair. His lips and brows creased as if in pain, but then, his eyes set in determination. As his face approached hers, both her and his breath caught in anticipation.

Needing no guidance but rather, simply instinctually knowing, their heads tilted opposite, and their lips brushed. His touch was timid yet yearning, pressing, pulling away, and then, pressing again. Their lips molded as if two pieces to a puzzle, soft against hard, fire against ice.

It felt as though she were floating; she was high off of him, her entire body intoxicated and eager and hot. Her thoughts were clouded and full of nothing but the fact that he was here, with her, touching her. Her arms shot up and tightly wrapped around his neck, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck, clutching him closer. The planes of their bodies aligned, pressing together and removing all space between them. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she could feel the angular, rigid lines of the muscles of his chest, but despite the contact, the chill of his body did nothing to quench the heat in hers.

Wanting more, she parted her lips to deepen their kiss. Edward's responded in kind, and their tongues hesitantly met, caressing and entwining. As she grew bolder, his featured tightened in distress, and he whispered a warning against her lips, "Teeth." But instead of pulling away, however, he simply entered _her_ mouth, protecting her from danger.

For minutes – or hours, for all Bella knew – they explored each other, lips feverishly grazing lips and skin and fingertips searching and tracing clothes-covered contours. Their soft moans and pants bounced off the very walls of the room and cut through the thrumming of her coursing blood in her ears. For those moments, she allowed herself to forget the anxiety, the fear, and the unknown. Instead, she marveled and lost herself completely in their newfound intimacy and physicality. Edward was everything that she wanted, despite it all.

As the urgency slowed, his nose skimmed down the column of her throat, inhaling, and he murmured against her overheated skin, "You asked if I cared for you? It's so much more than that, Bella. I love you."


	18. Attempt

**_April 10, 2009  
7:19 am  
Four miles West of Forks, Washington_**

It had rained non-stop for two solid days. The ground was saturated, wet and sopping, thick with sticky red-brown mud. Each step he took suctioned and threatened to pull his feet down into the muck. Deep, murky puddles decorated the shadowed landscape, reflecting the faint, muted rays of sunlight streaming through the foggy air.

He looked around the dark wooded area. Saplings and young trees were bent and split, and vibrant green leaves scattered amongst tawny pine needles littered the forest floor, ripped from their branches by the gale force winds. It was quiet; not a sound other than their unnecessary breathing touched his ears. Birds and woodland creatures were silent and unseen, hiding in their nests, sensing the predators' presence. The pungent smell of laurel and freshly spilled sap permeated the space and filled his nostrils. From the east, he caught faint, trailing odors of humans and of their town.

"Laurent," James tersely said, turning to address his coven member. "It took you too long. I don't like waiting, you know that."

"There were delays," Laurent returned evenly, meeting James's baleful glare with one of his own. Having fed just outside of Seattle, his eyes were a vivid, demonic ruby. Even in the low light, they contrasted starkly with the blanched bronze complexion of his skin and jet-black, shoulder-length hair. Laurent's normally refined appearance was marred by dark, wet splotches and mud stains covering his lower half. Coupled with the ragged tears and rips in his clothing, he looked almost feral, like an animal.

"You didn't tell me that there would be others waiting and watching," Laurent grated with just a hint of a nearly-lost French accent coloring his cadence. "I had to be careful and circle around. This game of yours is not worth losing my head."

A low, angry snarl erupted from James's chest as he took a threatening step toward Laurent. "I will tell you what is worth it and what is not. You follow me. You would do well to remember that, _Laurent_," he hissed menacingly through clenched teeth. His hands were balled into rock-hard fists, nearly shaking with rage, ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.

Laurent's combative expression withered, and his eyes dropped in deference, swiftly responding to James's ire. He knew better than to press James when he was so furious. He had followed James for well over a century, much longer than Edward Cullen had even been alive. There were times when Laurent could assert himself; this was not one of them. Laurent had seen too many fall under James's hand for lesser offenses.

"Very well, James. What will you have me do?" he replied in a subdued voice.

Glancing over to Victoria, James replied with a hostile sneer, "We're going to pay Cullen and his precious human a visit."

James watched as Laurent's arched brows raised. "You're taking her today?" he asked, surprised by the change of plan. James rarely deviated from his intended course; once his mind was decided, he would follow through until the end. But this was a special case, an instance worth the risk if it meant adding to the suffering of his foe.

He smiled, considering what he had planned. Wrath abated, his fists uncurled, and his taut shoulders relaxed.

"Perhaps," James replied with a dark laugh. "Or perhaps I just want to chat with our dear Edward. It's been ages since we last saw one another. And our last encounter didn't leave us much time for conversation. He was a bit pre-occupied when I dropped him off."

Continuing seriously, he ordered, "Laurent, you are to come with me. This _discussion_ will be between Cullen and me, but you will be available if the need should arise."

"With his attachment to the girl," he spat. "He will be unpredictable.

"And I can't risk dealing with the Cullens…_yet_. I've not had the pleasure of meeting his _family _myself, but Victoria tells me the coven is large and that there are fighters. And if what you say is true, Laurent, they may be nearby. Victoria knows her task. She will watch from afar and keep us informed."

* * *

**_April 10, 2009  
2:31 pm  
Just outside of Forks, Washington (Western edge of town, near Newton's Sporting Goods)_**

The sound of light laughter and banter floated on the breeze. It was a purloined moment, rich and carefree, a momentary lapse from worry and apprehension. He could hear their happiness and joy, their _affection_. It was the sound of two lovers making acquaintance, reveling in their time together. Entirely focused, their voices were sharp and cutting to his ears.

James could smell them, too; Cullen's telltale honeyed scent and the girl's rich, flowered perfume invaded his lungs. The moment he smelled her, his throat flared in thirst. Since stealing that lock of hair, he'd almost forgotten just how delectable she truly was, a rare and exotic wine. He would enjoy drinking her once Cullen was burning. He would take his time with her, savoring her, making sure that she felt every single pull he took from her veins until her heartbeat stopped.

Keeping downwind, he silently crept toward the back of the old store, knowing that inevitably, Cullen would detect his presence. Their years together had taught him a few tricks to concealing his thoughts, but it would be impossible to hide for long. That vexing gift of his always complicated matters, although at one point in their shared past, it had been enormously valuable. From the voices issuing from within the store, however, it seemed as though Cullen was so consumed with the girl, James doubted that he'd have heard anything but her noxious voice.

He paused his advance when he heard their laughter wane. The girl's tone lowered, and she said firmly, "Edward, really. I'm not going to hide in your house. I can't."

Quiet, muffled footfalls fell against wooden flooring. "I'm not asking you to hide, Bella. Just come stay, but for a few days. I, no, _we_ can protect you there. Far more effectively than here," Edward returned in his most persuasive, satiny pitch.

James heard a soft, breathy huff, punctuated by the hammering of the girl's heart. She continued in a frustrated tone, "I've barely met your family. Well, not really even that. I can't ask something like this of them!"

There was a brief pause, and then the sounds of rustling fabric and touching bodies carried across the short distance.

"Please, Bella. For me, please," Edward begged. The pain and longing were evident, even to James's unsympathetic ear.

_Disgusting_, James thought. The very idea of a vampire pleading with a human for anything was revolting and unnatural. Humans were prey, and only a select few were worthy of transformation. This girl, this weakling, was not. She was pitiable, and once he'd finished with Edward, she would be good for one thing only.

Abruptly, motion inside the store halted and there was silence, but for the sound of the girl's thrumming heartbeat and moist breathing. A second later, a shrill, screeching ring pierced the silence.

Cullen's clipped voice, deathly calm, answered, "I know."

_Pause. _

"He's here already. Close."

_Pause._

"Come now!" he bellowed, his voice filled with a disparate mixture of hot rage and spiked terror.

A sharp plastic snap followed, cutting off the conversation.

James smiled and waited at the edge of the tree line, knowing there was no need for haste. In fact, prolonging this, allowing the fear to swell and crawl, was all the more torturous to his intended victims.

He listened intently as in a breathless, rushed voice, Cullen continued, "Bella, you are to stay inside this store no matter what. Do not leave. Do you understand me?"

The girl protested in a high-pitched panicked squeal, "What do you mean 'he's here?' Edward?"

Her heartbeat thundered in his ears, even across the distance and through the thick plank walls. Her breaths were raspy and shallow, near to the point of hyperventilation. He could smell the tang of adrenaline wafting through the air.

The sounds of hands roughly grabbing and clutching hands popped in the stillness. "Bella, listen to me very carefully. I don't have time. I've shown you pictures of my family. Wait for me or for one of them. And you stay here. Promise me," he demanded in an even, smooth voice.

He could only imagine Cullen's expression. It was almost too tempting to maintain his position. James wanted to see the girl's tears and pain. More so, he wanted to see the dread and the anguish that Cullen would no doubt be wearing.

Choked sobs answered, stammering out a garbled, "No! Don't leave! Please, Edward! Please!"

Beseeching and insistent, he answered, "Stay here, Bella. You must. Trust me on this. Please. You said you loved me. If you do in any way at all, or if you at least value my sanity, you will stay here."

"Really, Edward. Love? Come now, this is almost embarrassing. You really are besotted with this fragrant waif aren't you?" James called out in an amused but moderated voice, knowing that he would easily be heard, both audibly and mentally.

"Edward!" she cried out again, having not heard James's taunt.

"I have to go. I'll be back. Stay. Wait for me or for my family," Edward replied one last time.

_Of course, that weakling would want to shield his precious human from witnessing this. Always coddling them. As if hiding her away behind wooden walls would stop me! Once I'm through with him, I'll deal with her_, he chuckled.

Measured steps bounced off wood, steadily growing louder, and then finally, the store's back entrance opened with an amplified metallic screech. He continued out into the service alleyway and then stopped once he was a fair distance away from the building.

"James," his foe greeted coldly. "You're breaking your own rules.

"But then, you've never believed in rules at all," he continued, raising his eyes.

James glared at Edward, his fury mounting. He noted that Edward had fed recently; his eyes were a vibrant ocher. His body was tense, prepared for attack. Thick cords of muscle stood out along his neck and shoulders, rippling as he rolled his wrists hanging by his sides. James acknowledged that having Laurent accompany him was an intelligent strategy. Playing with a vampire's mate was a dangerous game, more so than their previous exploits.

"You reek of her, Cullen," James sneered. "Her perfume is all over you. It's like you bathed in her. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with food?"

"You will not have her, James. Not this time, not her. I will rip you asunder," Edward returned, his voice icy and calm. His movements had stilled, and he stood, glaring and furious, frozen and waiting for his moment.

"Ah, Edward. You always underestimate me. Do you really think I don't know of your attachment to this delicious little creature? Do you really think I would come here unprepared?" James scoffed.

"I believe you remember Laurent?" he said, motioning toward the trees.

Laurent stalked through the trees, parting the low-hanging limbs. He stepped in the alleyway, stopping several yards from James, such that the three vampires formed a misshapen triangle. Crouched low and fingers curled, Laurent's stance was one of ready-attack; just a word from James and he would spring.

"Yes, James, I knew your pet had accompanied you. I heard him before I heard you. Where's Victoria? I'm sure she isn't far. You never were one to fight fairly," Edward spat, glancing between the two.

James laughed loudly, entertained by his foe's boldness. His voice echoed, bouncing off of the long line of wood slat buildings.

"Fair? What exactly does 'fair' have to do with anything? 'Fair' is an archaic, idealistic notion concocted by those who do not possess the means to take what they want," James snapped.

"And what, pray tell, do you want, James?" Edward growled.

Snarling, James replied, "Suffering, Edward. I want you to writhe in agony. Over and over again, I want you to feel the ache of death.

"You took my perfection and stole her away. You took what was rightfully mine and mine alone. What I will never have again. You probably drank her for yourself, being the hypocrite you are. And you disgraced my coven, _me_. You made me look the fool.

"And for that, I will tear you apart and burn you. I'm done playing with you, Cullen. This time I will send you to oblivion.

"But know this: once you are ash, I will drink your precious little girl. And I will make sure she feels unimaginable pain. She will scream and beg me for death, but I will draw her torture out. What Victoria did to that dark-skinned boy will look merciful in comparison. And she will know that you are the reason."

In a blinding whir of sound and color, Edward flung himself across the distance, slamming into James. Their bodies clapped together in a peal of thunder and rolled a dozen yards into the forest. Limbs and branches snapped beneath the force of their fall, and dirtied water and mud sprayed where they passed.

With a vicious kick to the gut, James vaulted upward and sent Edward careening into a distant boulder formation. Shards of gray-brown rock and debris blasted through the air from the impact of his vampire body. In a flash, Edward recovered and sprung up, shaking his head to clear the granite shrapnel.

Their eyes locked across the distance. At once, Edward continued his assault, flying through the trees at an unmatched speed, his feet barely touching the ground. Again, their bodies met, colliding mid air. They tumbled to forest floor with an earth-shaking rumble, bounding into the base of a nearby ancient oak.

James's iron fingers grappled and latched onto Edward's throat, and he jerked them both upright. In a lightning-fast move, Edward reached between his arms and across his shoulder to palm the flat of his shoulder blade. Simultaneously, he pummeled James's abdomen with his other fist. The force of the blow and the angle of the hold wrenched James's grip from his neck and spun him away. As he twisted around, James felt a crack in his ribs from Edward's fist connecting again.

Furious, ripping snarls reverberated through the quiet. James leaped at Edward, smashing his elbow to his face, and tackling him to the ground. His claw-like fingers dug into Edward's forearms, holding him down, and his razor teeth found skin, tearing and shredding into his enemy's throat and exposed flesh. Gaping, jagged holes littered Edward's body where James's teeth found purchase.

Edward's knees shot up and crashed into James's mid section, shattering more ribs and flinging him through the air. He landed across a fallen tree, demolishing it to splinters and dust. But instantly, James was on his feet and speeding toward Edward again.

Their bodies twisted together in a violent, brutal dance, winding back to the cleared space behind the store. Edward's teeth snapped ferociously at James, biting and tearing chunks of white vampire flesh. James lurched to the side, just dodging Edward's attack. As Edward's arm whizzed through the air, James caught him by the elbow and tore the arm from its socket. With another kick, Edward's left femur shattered and he faltered. Stepping into him, James flipped Edward on his back and stomped his foot, aiming at Edward's throat.

Seeing his intent, Edward rolled, and James's boot sunk into the wet ground. Edward jumped up, limping, his arm hanging uselessly by his side, barely attached. Unfazed, primal roars exploded, and Edward again darted toward James.

Edward's wounded body barreled into James, knocking him off balance and backing him against a metal dumpster. His fingers wrapped around James's neck and began to squeeze and jerk. But just before Edward could cut through, Laurent's arms enveloped Edward's shoulders, tearing him away from James.

With one hand on Edward's throat, another yanking his hair, and a knee digging into Edward's spine, Laurent lowered him to his knees.

James straightened, and twisted his neck to realign it. He acknowledged that that had been…_close_. Shrugging off the intense pain from Edward's attack, James walked over to face him.

In an even voice, he grated, "Well, Cullen. Well, now, indeed. It seems that you do want this girl to live. I've not seen you this driven before. It's a shame it's all for naught."

"You will not survive this, James. I swear to you. My family will hunt you down. And they will not allow you to touch Bella. No matter what, you will not touch her," he uttered, his voice pained and gurgling. His eyes were hard and determined, unwilling to accept defeat.

James lowered his hands to Edward's upturned face, placing one on either side of his head. With so little effort, this would all be over. Slowly, torturously, he applied the pressure needed. He could hear the splintering cracks starting as he twisted. Edward's breath caught and a whimper of agony escaped.

"Just a little more and it will be all over," James crooned, relishing the evidence of Edward's anguish.

Another slow twist, and another cry of pain erupted.

"NO!" a deafening noise shrieked from the back entryway of the store. "No! God, please, no! No! No! NO!"

James's crimson eyes shot up, and he immediately found the source of the racket. The girl stood, her face white and frozen with terror. Her dark eyes were wide, and her pink lips were parted in silent torment. Her fists knotted into her hair, pulling at it in panic, and her body shook with violent shudders.

"Bella, no! Get back inside! Now!" Edward breathed, his voice constricted and muffled by the unnatural angle at which his neck was locked. James doubted the girl could even hear him.

At that same instant, Victoria appeared, flying across the ground in a streaking blur of fiery red and white. Gravel and dirt sprayed behind her racing feet.

"Now, husband! We must leave. I could divert them only briefly. There are four, only seconds behind me," she rushed.

A moment of indecision passed. Four vampires appeared at the end of the service alley, three males and a female. One male was as large as James had seen before, tall and with thick, bulky muscles and an aggressive stance. Another was lithe and lean, but even in the distance, James could see that he wore the marks of a fighter. A third male, obviously their creator judging from his age, followed alongside a small female with short, dark hair.

James's eyes widened in surprise, and his grip slackened. With a frustrated growl, he tightened his hold again, twisting one final time.

A sharp, sickening snap echoed in the silence.

* * *

**_April 13, 2009  
5:02 am  
_****_The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington_**

Bella had sat in the overstuffed side chair, her knees curled underneath her and her arms wrapped tightly around her chest, motionless, for hours on end. She was exhausted from the never waning despair and worry of the past two days. This, this pain, was worse, more intense, and more wholly consuming than anything she'd felt before. It was as strong as the aftermath of her mother's death, but different.

True sleep and reprieve would not come, and in the few instances she drifted off, horrifying nightmares would startle her awake within minutes. She dreamed of Edward, of the vision of his broken and mangled body kneeled beneath two vampires with scarlet eyes, and of the heart-shattering memory of James snapping his neck. With startling clarity, she could hear the sound of his scream and of the sound of vampire bones cleaving. Each time she allowed herself to relive that moment, tears and heaving sobs would overtake her.

"Bella?" a soft voice called from the doorway. "Dear, can I get you something? Please? Something to eat?"

"No, no thank you, Esme," Bella replied in a faint whisper. "I'm fine."

Through blurry eyes, Bella looked at Edward's mother – or whatever she was – smiling in kind sympathy. Bella recalled how Edward had spoken of her, of her gentleness, and of her temperate nature. As they all were, Esme was beautiful, inhumanly so, but she had a softness and a roundness to her features that gave her a nurturing warmth the others didn't possess.

Every few hours, Esme stopped by to check on her, to offer her food, a shower, a bed. Each time, Bella had declined. She had no motivation for any of those things. Her only motivation was lying comatose on the bed in front of her.

Edward lay beneath a thick, golden bedspread. Both of his arms, bare and bruised, rested at his sides above the fabric. For the first two days, she had been afraid to touch him, afraid to cause him any more pain.

When she'd seen that final twist and heard that _sound_, Bella's heart had stopped and broken, shattering into a million pieces, thinking that she had witnessed his end. She'd collapsed to the ground, hysterical and uncaring of anything that happened to her. When she felt slender, cool arms lift her, she barely registered that they had belonged to Alice.

Little over the past two days permeated her haze. She recalled the fleeting conversations she'd had with Edward's siblings. She recalled changing into something that Alice had given her, and she vaguely remembered Carlisle speaking with her father about her staying with them. She wasn't sure what excuse was given, but it had worked and Charlie had not protested.

But by and large, it was all nothing but a dark, desolate blur. Minutes bled into hours, hours bled into days. The only thing that marked the passage of time was Edward's appearance.

When they'd first arrived at the Cullen's home, a large, white, two-story farmhouse dating back to the early 1930s and buried in the depths of the forest outside of town, she'd not been allowed to see him. She'd been quarantined with Alice and Rosalie, where they had tried to distract her with conversations she didn't comprehend. She appreciated their efforts, but they were to no avail. Her thoughts were consumed by nothing but Edward.

Carlisle and Jasper had holed away with Edward's…_body_ with quiet assurances that it could be mended. How that could possibly occur, Bella hadn't understood. But she didn't ask, remembering that Edward had told her of a similar event years prior. She had to trust them, trust people – no, vampires – she'd only just met. All she could do was hope. She'd prayed with every fiber of her being that they spoke the truth and that Edward would come back to her. Now that she had found him, she didn't think that life was possible without him. Her survival depended on his.

Hours after disappearing, they resurfaced with his body intact. They gently moved him upstairs and had laid him across the bed in his bedroom. Thankfully, they'd cleaned him of the mud and leaves and rocks that he'd been covered in and dressed him in comfortable clothing.

Since that moment, Bella had not left his room but for human necessities. They weren't sure how long he would be unconscious, but she wouldn't risk being away when he finally returned.

The shades were drawn, so she wasn't certain of the hour. But it was dark in the room, lit only by a small table lamp by the bed. She glanced around the room, eyes searching Edward's space and respite. It looked like him, timeless and classic. Stacks upon stacks of gilded leather books littered deep, stained shelves. The furniture and colors were ageless and rich, varying shades of dark cherry wood, caramel, and gold.

Underneath the soft, white light, his skin, hard and impermeable, gleamed. The dark, splotchy wine and black bruises that covered what had seemed to be his entire body were yellowing and fading. Jagged white tears and holes in his flesh appeared to shrink and repair even as she watched. Lightly tracing his palm, her eyes tilted upward to the ceiling, and she prayed, _Surely they spoke the truth. Please, let him wake. Please, let him not feel pain. _

"Edward? I don't know if you can hear me. Please come back to me. I love you. Please come back. You swore you wouldn't leave me," she whispered her prayer, lifting and kissing the back of his hand.

Despondently, Bella laid her head on the bed by his side and waited. She thought about their days together, their emotional declarations, their laughter, the stolen touches, the heated embraces, her lips molded to his stone. Closing her eyes, she could still feel his immovable arms wrapped tightly around her, she could still feel the fire on her skin beneath his caress. Her mind had memorized his icy planes beneath her fingers, the searing heat of his gaze, boring into her depths, and she had stored away the musical, soothing velvet of his voice. Again and again, she replayed the words he'd said to her, whispered words that were engrained and branded on her very soul. Her lungs inhaled, trying desperately to take his scent in, to take in the only solace and reminder she had.

Some time later, she felt something caressing her hair, gently smoothing stray locks away from her forehead. _I must have fallen asleep_, Bella thought with a sigh. _And I'm dreaming. For once, something not horrifying._

"Bella?" she heard him say. His voice was barely above a whisper, but still, even so, it sounded like liquid silk.

Her head snapped up, and her eyes found his. He looked horrible, bruised and battered, but she barely noticed. His eyes, now a deep crimson, stared directly into hers, coherent and lucid.

Her hand clasped his, and she brought their joined hands to her cheek. Relief flooded her chest as she exhaled, "Edward."

"I'm sorry, Bella."

"Stop," she said, pressing a slender finger to his lips. Her eyes blinked shut, and hot tears leaked down her face. "No apologies. You came back to me."

He returned a half-hearted smile, one that didn't touch his tired eyes, and his palm cupped her cheek. "No, Bella. I'm so sorry you had to see that. I can't imagine how you feel. Or what seeing that kind of violence did to you. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from that."

"Shh, you're here," she repeated, opening her eyes once more.

His fingers wound into her tangled hair, and he pulled her closer. "Come here. Lay with me, let me hold you," he breathed.

Gently, fearful of causing him any discomfort, she climbed on the bed over the bedspread and nestled against his side. Tentatively, she laid her head on his shoulder and snaked an arm across his chest, clutching him closely. In response, his arms wrapped tightly and protectively around her, squeezing her against his rigid frame. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling lungfuls of _her_, and his fingers soothingly stroked her face.

For an endless length of time, they lay together, limbs tangled, wordlessly comforting each other. His touch was like a cool balm to a wound, alleviating the pain and the ache. She felt like she could breathe again, like the pressure that had swollen her chest had released. She felt whole again. She didn't want to let him go even for a moment.

But hours later, they pulled apart. Carefully, he sat up and leaned against the headboard. While he said he felt no pain, Bella saw the wince when he moved. Unwilling to be more than inches from him, she sat beside him, fingers threaded between his.

Edward looked at her seriously. "I need to have a conversation with the family. I owe it to them and to you. You all need to know the truth."

Her brows knitted together and she frowned. She wasn't sure if he was really ready to delve into what was surely a stressful subject. But she knew that what he said was truth. If the battle at the store were any indication, there was no guarantee of time. His family had not been able to pursue James as saving Edward had been first and foremost. So, James was out there, plotting and planning. He could strike at any moment. They all needed to know.

Bella moved to climb off the bed. "I'll get th-,"

He interrupted her with an understanding smile. "No, it's alright. They'll come.

"Carlisle. Esme. Alice. Jasper. Emmett. Rosalie," he spoke in nothing more than an everyday conversational volume.

No more than two seconds later, there was a tentative knock at the door, followed by all of his family quietly entering the room. Bella could see the worry and subsequent relief evident in their expressions, but politely they maintained distance, allowing Edward and Bella their space.

"Edward," Esme breathed. "Thank God. I was beside myself. We all were."

"Thank you. I know. It's so much more than I deserve," he replied with a heavy sigh. His free hand raked through his hair nervously.

"I need to tell you everything," he continued morosely.

Carlisle responded first, "Emmett shared with us what you told him a few days ago."

"Yes, I know. But you don't know why James is here. And you don't know the most important piece, the part that shames me more than anything."

His gaze faltered, lowering to their joined hands. With a deep breath, Edward began, "Years ago, during what you, Carlisle, refer to as my 'rebellious period,' I lived with him. With James."

Edward glanced up at Bella sorrowfully, and she felt him desperately grip her hand, fearful of her response, as if she would leave him. "I lived with him as he lived, feeding from… humans, from the dregs of society, but also from the innocents."

His expression was sad and pleading, his brow furrowed harshly, his lips tightly drawn. She immediately felt sick, not only for his past, but for the guilt he still harbored. Bella knew if she dwelt on his past, it would cause her to be physically ill, thinking of those who'd died at Edward's hand. But his remorse was palpable and heart wrenching. To imagine carrying that kind of weight and responsibility for so many decades was almost intolerable.

She squeezed his hand in return and offered pardoning by reaching across and tracing his jaw line. His eyes slid shut and his lips turned in, fighting some deep welling of emotion. In the background, his family was still, quietly watching and allowing them their brief moment of silent understanding and forgiveness.

After a moment, his eyes opened and he took another steadying breath. Shakily, he started again, "As I said, for many years, I was one of his family. Or rather, one of his coven. Family is something James knows nothing of."

"So, he's angry with you for leaving his coven?" Alice asked, her head cocked slightly in confusion.

"Partly, but more so, I stole something – or someone – from him. I stole his singer," he replied.

Bella didn't understand his terminology. _Singer?_ she questioned silently. But clearly, his family understood him. For when he uttered that final word, Bella heard a collective gasp. They all looked at him with stunned expressions, Jasper especially.

Carlisle recovered first, and addressed Bella directly. In a gentle, quiet voice, he explained, "Bella, I'm sure you are confused. In our world, a 'singer' is a term for a very specific human to an individual vampire. A singer is a human whose blood calls to her vampire with an almost intolerable strength. Many of us go our entire existences without finding that person. If and when we do, her blood is impossible to resist."

"_Almost _impossible," Edward corrected gravely, looking down once more at their entwined hands.

Understanding dawned in Carlisle's expression, but he said nothing. Bella watched curiously as Edward's chin dipped slightly down and then back up, as if he were affirming an unspoken question.

Before she had a chance to ask, Alice interrupted, "You killed his singer?"

"Yes, in 1929. That was the first of our battles, what set this all in motion."


	19. Beginning

_**March 24, 1929  
10:16 pm  
Belle Aire Sanitarium, Mobile, Alabama**_

_They're coming! I have to hide, I have to run! _

_The needles! So many needles! Get them out! They're burning me!_

_Shh! Stop talking, Martha. __Who's Martha? No, I'm Greta. No! __Who's Greta?_

_So lonely. Where's mother? Where's sister? Where am I?_

Edward's mind was flooded with sickened thoughts. After so many years, he thought that he had become accustomed to hearing the minds of others and to tuning them out. But these minds, they were different. These minds twisted reality; these humans lived in unreal dreamscapes, detached from the world and the people surrounding them. They were confused, jumbled, and impossible to follow. They were also overwhelmingly depressing, weighing him down with their despair and isolation.

Over and over, he could see the distorted, warped images of their minds and vision. He could hear their pitiful cries and misery. Shrieks, silent and audible, wracked through his body. His subconscious quaked at the onslaught.

His scarlet eyes clenched shut, trying, to little avail, to force the crazed thoughts away. When he opened them once more and continued his path, he was assaulted with another variety of hell.

The black and white tiled halls were dark and dank. Only a sprinkling of low, flickering lights illuminated their path, casting long, indistinct shadows along the dirtied, white walls. The lamps were not necessary, however; Edward could see everything with flawless clarity.

Microscopic fissures spread like a spider's web across the porcelain blocks, unseen to the human eye, but clear and vivid to his. Lice, fleas, and buzzing gnats skittered along the walls, and long, shiny roaches scurried into corners.

As a heavy wooden door down the hall clinked shut, pollen and dust motes swirled in the eddying air, sparkling with shifting colors and shapes. At one point in his existence, just after he'd been turned, he would not have been able to resist their shine and distraction. After years of exposure and practice, his mind simply processed everything all at once, compartmentalizing each sense.

Despite the early spring date, on the Gulf it was already hot, humid, and sticky. Everything he touched felt tacky and slimy. Brass knobs slid underneath his hands, slickened by human sweat and oils. Everything, the walls, the doors, and even the ceiling, had a sheen of filth.

But the smell was worse. To his heightened senses, the stagnant stench of urine and mold mingled with heavy salted air was almost overpowering. The human scents, normally sweet and cloying, were tainted and marred by bitter medicines and chemicals. The entire place smelled like rancid decay.

How any decent person could confine a loved one here, in this pit, despite mental sickness, he could not fathom. This place, this dungeon of madness, was hell on earth.

"Edward," James called, seemingly unaware – or at least, unaffected – by their miserable surroundings. "We're almost there. You watch for the old one. He may be waiting. You will take care of him."

Inwardly, Edward cringed, wishing that James had asked Laurent to accompany him instead. Edward was tired of killing, even other killers like him. For so many years, he'd been a machine, a vile, murderous monster, taking anything or anyone he desired. He had gorged himself on human blood, uncaring and unrepentant, citing it was his nature and lot in life. He'd shoved his humanity into a dark closet and shut the door. He was a predator and humans were prey. So many lives he had stolen, so many futures he had decimated.

It hadn't always been like that. In the beginning, he'd awoken from his fiery transformation to a gentler life, an existence without killing or human death.

As sharp as a knife, Carlisle's words cut. "All life is sacred, Edward. Just because we live off of blood doesn't mean we have to be killers. We can subsist without murder. We can co-exist with humans. We must protect them from our nature. You mustn't give in."

In the beginning, that had been enough. Carlisle's thoughts were pure, and Edward could feel the sincerity emanating from his creator. For the most part, Edward had been content, and they had lived for years in quiet solitude. He distinctly remembered the endless hours he'd spent studying, learning, absorbing everything his vampire's mind would permit. He taught himself to play instruments, to speak languages. Once he'd mastered his early, newborn bloodlust, he'd even attended human schools.

"Why do you do it, Carlisle? We're damned anyway. Why bother trying to resist? Are we not predators? Is it not simple nature?" he'd asked one evening.

Carlisle's perfectly arched brow rose and his long, pale fingers templed in consideration. Edward knew that Carlisle disagreed with his conclusions. The concepts of souls and destiny and morality had become a regular conversation, one in which they always found themselves in incongruity.

"We are who we choose to be, Edward. I choose to live above base physical wants. I refuse to see myself as a simple animal, a creature that feeds and lives only to survive. I strive for goodness, to ease the pain of those around me. I have the power to help, not condemn. You can see our nature as a curse or as something with which to do great things. Or at least beneficial things.

"We all have burdens to bear. How you bear that burden is the sum of who you are and is the basis by which you are judged."

Carlisle, despite his age and despite all of the things to which he'd borne witness, had never left the puritanical faith of his human father and priest. Never had he questioned heaven or hell or God. He believed wholly, and despite his immortality, he fought to earn salvation. Edward knew this because he'd seen it all in Carlisle's thoughts as well as in his actions. He was kind, compassionate, and faithful.

But Edward had never had such grounding. His faith was tentative and borrowed. And like a rebellious adolescent, he'd questioned.

_How could a God who calls himself love allow such an abomination? If humans were so precious, why were they, vampires, allowed to exist? Maybe there is no God and there is no morality. Perhaps I'm limiting myself for nothing, _he'd thought disdainfully.

Edward could hear the old one's thoughts; he was somewhere outside of the building. He was distracted, thinking of his human pet, the girl that James would take. The old one didn't yet realize that they were there; he was too far away and too wrapped up in his strange fixation.

_She needs to eat. She is so frail and weak; this place is killing her. I must take her away and place her somewhere safe and bright. The darkness does not suit her. _

Edward wondered if vampires could succumb to lunacy. This creature was half deranged, perhaps an effect of this place. But in an eccentric way, the old one reminded him of Carlisle. He had no desire to drink the girl; for some reason, he loved her and doted on her as best he knew how.

Edward shook his head in memory.

So many evenings of questioning and doubt had eroded his confidence in his maker's lifestyle. Edward would never oppose that it was the right course for Carlisle, but for him, he wasn't sure. He was curious and restless, and deep down, he wanted to feel the power and strength of his vampire form.

"I know that you disagree with me, Edward, but think about it. Do you really want to murder?" Carlisle had pressed quietly. "Would your conscience allow it?"

"I don't know, Carlisle," he'd responded, not fully convinced he even possessed a conscience. As a seventeen-year-old human, from what fuzzy memories he retained, he'd never really experienced anything that had eaten away at him or caused him guilt. And too, after his transformation, he'd known nothing but his creator's sheltered life.

But then, there was that fateful night in St. Paul, just after they'd moved from the outskirts of Chicago. They'd been away in the silence of the wilderness, having spent a week hunting timber wolves and bear in lower Ontario. When they'd arrived into the city, they stumbled upon an exceptionally gruesome murder scene in which two small girls had been brutally assaulted and tortured. In actuality, they hadn't stumbled upon anything; the moment he was within mindshot, Edward had been attacked by the vicious, evil thoughts of the perpetrators, still lingering in the city. And he broke.

That night, everything changed. With fury he'd never felt before, Edward had torn through the city, streaking across roofs with unfathomable speed, and he had hunted the fiends down. He became a true hunter, and he tasted the exquisite perfection of human blood for the first time. The heady combination of avenging angel's justice and his throat's quench was immediately addicting. That night, he stepped away from Carlisle and his peaceful ways.

"James, why are we here?" Edward hissed in the dark. "There is nothing here for us. This place reeks. We can find you someone else. I don't understand your fascination."

While the stench of the sanitarium was nearly unbearable, that wasn't his reasoning. He knew James's intent. He knew of the small girl, cowering in the corner of her cell. And the longer they waited, the more unsure and sick Edward felt. Guilt, or something akin to it, relentlessly stabbed him in the chest.

"Can't you smell her?" James snapped, incredulous and hot. "She's mine!"

James's thoughts were purely fixated on the tiny girl down the hall, absolutely consumed with her. In their years together, Edward had never witnessed this kind of obsession and focus. They'd spent the last two days feinting and maneuvering, trying to lure the old one away from her cell. He was centuries old and surprisingly strong. As such, rather than jumping in, James plotted in his normal fashion. He wouldn't risk the girl being turned or killed.

When Edward had first encountered James and Laurent in New York, he'd been drifting from city to city, targeting evildoers and the true abhorrers of civil society. At the time, he only killed murderers and rapists, those who had escaped notice or capture, those who reveled in their wickedness. He'd rationalized his behavior as being beneficial and right. Edward was elated with his newfound purpose; he felt justified, and he felt like he was doing society a service. And simultaneously, he was granted his nature's perfect drink, that intoxicatingly sweet nectar of human blood. Nightly, though his thirst didn't demand it, he'd stalked dark alleys and seedy places of ill repute. Nightly, he sank his teeth into buttery flesh, sucking life and evil out of the world.

"Why don't you join us?" James had asked, chuckling condescendingly at Edward's diet of malefactors.

Despite his satisfaction with his chosen path, Edward missed Carlisle. He missed their camaraderie and their long conversations. He longed for contact and wasn't accustomed to being alone. Additionally, he was curious about others of his kind, how they lived, how they fed, how they entertained themselves. Out of loneliness and intrigue, he'd agreed, thinking it would be for a brief tenure.

Days had turned into weeks, which had turned into years. Initially, he kept his feeding to the scum of society, despite his coven members' preferences. But James's continual onslaught of malevolence and violence had eventually permeated and infiltrated Edward's steadfast rule of miscreants only. Slowly, he wore down and became desensitized to James's actions and thoughts. And eventually, Edward turned his back on all that Carlisle had taught him.

As a coven, they had meandered across the continent, striking whenever and wherever they desired. They took what they wanted without concern or care, knowing that their strength could not be bested.

Occasionally, they would be joined by others of their kind. But those vampires rarely remained for any real length of time. And more than once, the departures had been the result of an offense against James. Quickly, Edward had learned that James was hot-tempered and more than willing to end anyone's life, human or vampire. However, he had never turned on Edward; Edward's strength, speed and gift of hearing made him too valuable of an ally to attack. If anything, James coddled him, treating him almost as if he were a younger brother.

Like a true vampire of lore, Edward had drunk willfully and negligently, targeting taste above all else. Edward's gift was a curse, however, as he could hear all of the suffering and fear he bred.

The first time he took an innocent, a beautiful, dark-skinned young woman who smelled of jasmine, he'd sobbed dry heaves for hours afterward. But soon after, blood's call was too strong, and he struck, again and again, regardless of his victims' morality. Gradually, he learned to tune it all out, to ignore their fear and pain. Or when he couldn't, he simply snapped their vertebrae before he drank, granting both predator and prey mercy. For years, he managed to lock away his guilt and remorse.

Slowly, however, pricks of his lost humanity had begun to pierce his self-built shell. There had been no specific turning point or specific victim. It was a cumulative effect, as if his fill had been reached and he was overflowing with his transgressions. Each desperate cry for a mother or for pity struck him, resonating through his body and sinking into his being. With each victim, another name and face and _smell_ added to his flawless memory. The deep swell of sorrow and shame grew, launching him into dark depression.

Of course, James had been completely oblivious to his slow transformation – or as he would term it, _reversion_. He hadn't noticed when Edward began only killing the murderers again. But even that did not assuage his growing regret. Often, images of Carlisle came unbidden, and he would briefly wonder if he would ever be allowed to return to his creator, considering his sins.

"Edward, go around. Find her protector and take care of him. I don't want to be interrupted," James commanded, as he crept around the corner and into the perpendicular hall.

Edward paused and his eyes clamped shut again, dreading the upcoming feast. He could imagine James's iron grip, holding the pitiful girl to his chest, teeth latched to her neck. James had been planning this for days, from the moment he caught her aroma.

_So slowly. I want her conscious. I want to feel her heart pumping beneath my hand_, he thought in graphic detail.

Violent visions of the girl's slender arms flailing, trying to fight him off, assaulted Edward's second sight. James was a pure sadist and torturer, and each time he considered his perfect prey, the visions became more and more brutal and bloody. He wanted her to feel excruciating pain and to hear her cries. For him, it would only heighten the experience. _As if drinking his singer would not be enough,_ Edward thought, sickened. Even in his worst hour, the idea of drawing out pain and suffering for thrill was nauseating.

Revulsion bubbled in the pit of Edward's stomach. In James's fantasies, Edward could see the girl's nearly black eyes, wide and pleading in terror, and he could hear her cries as if they were real and present.

Adding to James's thoughts, all around him, the mental anguish of the hospital's occupants clamored and shook his resolve.

_Help me! Please, let me out!_

_I wish I were dead; it wouldn't hurt so badly. _

_I'm not crazy! I do see! I know what will happen. I've seen it!_

Unwillingly, he sped opposite of James, following his orders and searching for the old one. But still he watched James, tracked his thoughts.

He raced past various rooms of torture, rooms wired for electrical procedures, rooms with pits for ice baths, rooms with beds affixed with leather bindings, even operating rooms. He could smell the remnants of dried and caked blood from cruel and inhumane _treatments_. Quickly, he exited, trying to escape the real madness of this hospital.

Outside on a thick carpet of centipede grass, he found his foe. _No_, he corrected, _James's foe._ He had no qualm with this vampire; if anything, Edward held some measure of respect or at least familiarity with him.

His complexion was stark white and it glowed beneath the pale light from the waxing moon. Like this place, he was dirty and ragged. Tears and stains littered his canvas trousers, and his nearly black hair was matted and dirty. His shoulders were curved inward, as if he were physically tired, an impossibility for a vampire. While the old one had some strength, he was truly no match for James, were they to encounter. He was no danger for Edward either. Of that, Edward was positive.

The old one was moving at a humanly pace, carrying a small tray filled with fruits and steaming soup. Like he did each night, he was bringing the girl real food, not the watery slop the sanitarium fed its occupants. He was trying to keep her alive, from starving. Why he didn't simply release her – as he easily could – wasn't apparent in his thoughts.

As soon as he caught sight of Edward, the vampire stopped, frozen in his tracks. The tray dropped with a clang, sending the hot liquid flying. His spine bent, and his hands curled into talons, readying himself for attack.

Edward could hear his thoughts, indecisive and panicked, as he comprehended the situation.

_Attack or the girl. My precious one! No! _

A chord of sympathy and some other unidentifiable emotion flickered through Edward's awareness. He didn't want to destroy this creature. He was tired, so very tired of death. And again, he realized how desperately he dreaded seeing this girl's death, as he knew he would through James's mind. The entire situation sat all wrong with Edward, and it made him feel ill and almost lightheaded.

"Wait, old one," Edward cautioned, raising his hand, palm out. "If you pursue her, you will perish. My comrade will destroy you easily. You are strong in your age, but you cannot match him. This, I tell you with absolutely certainty."

"I won't let him kill her. She's too good for that," the old one pleaded in a thick Acadian French accent, his sincerity, both spoken and non, rattling Edward's mind.

"But you will be burned to ash if you do," Edward replied in a soft, almost kind voice.

The outpouring of concern this vampire had for that tiny, black haired girl was staggering. Over and over, with vampire speed, he sifted through memories of his human, unknowingly sharing his thoughts with Edward. Image after image inundated Edward's mind

"I must," he whispered.

Before Edward could protest again, the old vampire darted to the right, targeting the girl's cell, deep inside the building. His wild, dark hair and tattered clothing streamed behind him, floating on the wind.

Against his better judgment, Edward paused before pursuing. He could have easily followed his orders and captured the fleeing vampire; his speed on foot was unrivaled amongst any he'd encountered. With little effort, he could close his fingers around the old vampire's neck and squeeze, ending his existence in that instant. But Edward found that…he didn't _want_ to catch this vampire. It took him a moment to grasp and process that fact.

Sighing, he glanced upward, as if his answers were written in the moonlit sky. Outside the sanitarium, it was peaceful; it almost felt as if he were somewhere else, perhaps on the coast of Lake Michigan, not far from his human home of Chicago, in the summer. The stench of the human dwellings drifted away, replaced by the pleasant smells of the nearby Gulf mixed with a dozen varieties of blooming flora. Above, it was blue-black, lit only by the white moon and the millions of twinkling stars scattered across the heavens.

His long fingers snaked through his hair as he debated his course. James would be furious, no doubt, but again, Edward was surprised that that didn't bother him. _At all_.

Witnessing another of his kind respond to a human, heedless of his own well being, tapped into his long-buried conscience, and he realized that he wasn't merely tired of the killing. Edward was tired of everything: of drifting from place to place, of having no home, of hearing nothing but malice in both thoughts and words, of destroying lives, of living in violence, and even of blood. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. Realization hit him like a punch in the gut.

"Perhaps it's time for me to leave. I'm not up for this anymore," he murmured, as the image of his creator came without warning. "Maybe I can go home."

Just as he was turning to leave the premises, metallic screeches and roars of fury erupted from within the old building, ricocheting along the tiled hallways and out into the night. Through both James's and the old vampire's eyes, Edward could see their battle. It was a lopsided encounter in the extreme. James was lethal and cunning, and he had countless decades of fighting experience.

Conversely, while the old vampire had roamed the earth since well before the Grand Dérangement, his fighting prowess was weak and predictable. He was no fighter, and from his blackened eyes, Edward could see that he hadn't fed in perhaps months. He had little chance of survival.

Out of the corner of James's eye, Edward could see the frail girl at the center of this debacle. She was lying prone, bent and twisted in the corner of her cell. Her body was contorted at unnatural angles, and it appeared as though her spine and neck had been broken. Her chest rose and fell minutely, indicating that she remained alive, but only barely. At once, Edward knew that the old vampire had made it in time after all and had interrupted James just as he'd located her. When James moved to defend his meal, the girl had been cast aside with a force that a human's body could not withstand.

_Help me, please… I can't see… I'm dying, I feel it. Help me…please, let it be over… _her voice stuttered. Despite the distance, her internal voice sounded like clanging bells in Edward's mind. Pangs of discomfort rippled through him.

Without thinking, Edward's feet propelled him forward, not in the direction that he'd intended – away – but instead, toward the waging battle. Swiftly, he ghosted through the darkened halls, past the same torturous rooms he'd seen before.

The vampires' clash was no longer unknown; thundering claps of colliding granite were punctuated with the shrill screams and bawling of the crazed inhabitants. They were terrified, and their voices shrieked in Edward's ears. As he passed by cells, he could see them all, backed against the walls, paralyzed by the violent melee down the hall.

As he entered the cell, James had the old one pinned against the far wall. Cracked and shattered ceramic blasted outward from the force of the old vampire's body hitting, and the floor was riddled with debris and thick, white chunks of vampire flesh.

The old one was missing an arm, and Edward could see he had little fight in him left. James teeth ripped and snapped at his throat as his iron fists battered his chest and midsection. The sounds of vampire bones snapping and cracking resounded in the small space of the room.

_You will save me. You're here for me_, the girl's mind whispered, breaking his abstraction. She was clearly delusional, not recognizing him for his true nature.

"Edward!" James roared. "Now, take him and finish him!"

He was livid and enraged. His mind spun curses and spat derision. He thought Edward to be incompetent, not realizing that Edward had left him, in mind, and soon to be, in body.

"No, James, fight your own battles. I will help you no more," Edward responded, evenly and coolly.

Edward realized that at that moment, he'd made his choice. Why exactly, he could not say. Perhaps it was simply the realization that he no longer wanted to live James's life. Perhaps the old vampire's devotion had touched him in some truly substantial way. Perhaps it was the dark, sad eyes and silent pleas of the broken girl lying in a heap on the floor. Or perhaps, it was Carlisle's words, returning to him without request, in perfect tone and rhythm. He could hear the compassion ringing in his ears.

_I refuse to see myself as a simple animal, a creature that feeds and lives only to survive. I strive for goodness, to ease the pain of those around me._

_We all have burdens to bear. How you bear that burden is the sum of who you are and is the basis by which you are judged._

Without further thought, Edward flashed to the girl's side and scooped her up in his arms.

She was so tiny and fragile; through the thin, dingy fabric of her gown, he could feel the sharp, protruding bones of her ribs and hips. Even with his faultless control of his limbs, he was frightened to clutch her too closely, afraid that she would break at the slightest pressure of his grip.

Her head, covered in a shaggy, inky mop of hair, lolled against his chest, and her emaciated arms hung uselessly. Drawn and sunken, her features twisted in intense pain, echoed in her mind. Black eyes looked up at him, unfocused and twitching. A slow, whisper of a heartbeat trickled through the uproar in the background. Her breaths were wet and gurgling, filled with sticky fluid and infection Regardless of her injuries, Edward knew even she had but a few days left.

The girl's body was broken beyond what he thought could be repaired, but thankfully she was not bleeding. _At least externally_, Edward realized. Glancing down at nearly translucent fabric, he could see that dark, wine-colored stains were fast appearing beneath her skin, indicating severe internal bleeding and trauma. She had very little chance of survival, if any at all.

But she didn't deserve to die at James's hand. That much, Edward knew.

James snarled and screamed in incoherent fury, but fortunately, he could not move to pursue. The old vampire, seeing and somehow sensing Edward's intent, struggled with all his remaining power against his grasp, forcing James to fight him and not pursue Edward.

Edward glanced over to their locked grip, and his eyes landed upon the face of the girl's protector, his flawless vampire features wrenched in agony. Hesitancy grounded him in place as he vacillated. Edward knew that the moment he left with the girl, the old one's fate was sealed. Yet he would not be able to manage the girl and fighting James.

"Save my Alice," the old one whimpered, eyes pleading to Edward.

With once last look, Edward nodded in understanding and he sped from the room, the girl's limp body tucked against his chest.

As he raced from the premises, he heard the final screams of the vampire's death. Looking back, he saw swirls of black-purple smoke ascending into the sky. Behind him, he could hear James in chase.

But Edward was faster. He was always faster, and he ran for hours. Like a bolt of lightning, he streaked out of the city, across the swamps, and through the forests. He plunged through lakes and streams, racing as fast as he'd ever gone.

He targeted northwest, not fully understanding why. But Edward kept running until James's thoughts were long since vanished and he'd hidden and cleansed his scent as thoroughly as possible.

Just before crossing the Mississippi, he stopped outside of Natchez and hid inside an old, abandoned outbuilding. In the early morning hours, it was still dark outside and even darker within. The sharp smell of straw filled the air and dust scattered where his feet touched. But it was quiet and no one would disturb them there.

He laid the girl – Alice – down on a pile of old clothes and burlap. She likely knew nothing nor could she feel anything of their surroundings. Her breathing was almost non-existent, and her heart rate was nearly inaudible. She had hours at most, Edward understood.

_What was the point, if she just dies?_ he questioned, despairing. _I saved no one!_

Her appearance tugged sharply at his conscience. The guilt of years spent murdering and drinking the blood of her fellow humans came back to him with a vengeance, dropping him to his knees in anguish. His body shook with hard, wretched sobs.

Her eyes fluttered open, ringed by deep purple bruises. Her skin was slick from sweat and blanched a sick greenish-white. Her lips, chapped and cracked, were bone white, matching her pale flesh. Luckily, her broken spine saved her the brunt of the pain she should have felt. Otherwise, she would be wailing in pain.

"Save me," she beseeched, locking her eyes to his. For just a moment, he could see clarity and lucidity.

"You don't want this," he replied gently.

"Let me live," she rasped again, blinking back tears. "I'm not ready to die. You can save me. Only you have that power."

And then she drifted back into delirium, eyes rolling back, moaning incoherently and panting for breath. He doubted that she could even recall the words she'd just spoken. Her thoughts were chaotic, shifting from vague memories of her childhood to fuzzed images of the old vampire to vividly horrifying and haunting visions of thick leather straps affixed to her wrists and of sharp needles piercing her skin.

But those words struck him, bewildering him. It was as if she understood what he was and knew of what he was capable. Edward's lids snapped shut as he fought with himself and indecision. A small voice inside his head urged him, telling him that he _could _save her, that she could live her life, that he could right at least part of this injustice and perhaps gain some measure of forgiveness for his failures. He knew that Carlisle would help her and take her in, even if he was beyond redemption himself.

Without opening his eyes, Edward brought her frail, withered wrist to his mouth and bit down.


	20. Disclosure

_**April 13, 2009**_  
_**11:11 am  
The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington**_

The room was deathly still; no one moved, frozen in time and in place. No one spoke, no one breathed. The rhythmic ticking of a wall clock echoed in the room, punctuating the silence.

He still held her by the hand, clutching her as if he feared she would try to escape now that she knew his truths. His gaze had yet to lift, glued to their entwined fingers. It was as though he were physically unable to meet his family's stares. The rest of Edward's body confirmed her suspicions. His body was rigid and strained, and the long muscles of his forearms flexed side to side as he nervously thumbed the creases in her palm. The tension in his body was truly palpable; his anxiety flowed from him into her, filling her and turning her stomach over and over. When his eyes clenched shut, she looked up and around, trying to distract herself and to break the welling disquiet.

Streaks of muted sunlight painted the walls, coating the room in a faint tawny light. Strangely enough, it was then, when the earth had seemingly stopped on its axis, that Bella's gaze was drawn to her surroundings. In her earlier despairing stupor, she'd been aware of Edward's space, but very little registered and very little did she retain. But now his things, his timeless taste, glimpses of him, seemed to jump out at her.

Unseen before, stacks of sorrel-colored calfskin journals were piled in the corner. From the worn bindings, some looked to be as old as Edward himself. Briefly, Bella wondered what secrets were contained within Edward's musings. And then there were the books. She'd seen them before, but not really. Immediately, she recognized that never before, outside of a library, had she seen so many books on such a wide variety of topics all in one place. The full wall shelves were lined with row after row of heavy, leather-bound tomes. Golden script glittered in the muffled light, reflecting white, spotted patterns along the white washed ceiling.

Assorted small artifacts, statuettes, and pottery scattered throughout the room, evidence of travels to locales unknown, were bold spots of color and life amongst the browns and golds. Her eyes slid down, ran along the knotty, burled wood planks of the floor, and then up the far wall to original oils, beautiful scenes in burnt reds and yellows and dark greens. In direct opposition to the antiquity, against another wall stood a modern sleek black sound system. Like Edward, his space was eclectic, a mix-mash of more than a century of experiences and life.

_Over a century_, she pondered. She couldn't fathom his age; he'd lived more than five of her lives. Yet for all his age, for all of his immortality and worldliness, he was sitting, as any other human would be, head down and eyes snapped shut in disgrace and apprehension. He was awaiting judgment and condemnation from those he loved the most. Her heart ached for him, hating the self-loathing she knew was coursing through him.

It was his fatal flaw, she realized. Edward had always – not just in the present – taken too much upon himself, assuming he should deal with everything alone. Certainly, he had misstepped; he had been the wayward son. And for that, despite years of penance, he still suffered, still had never forgiven himself for his transgressions. Inside, he was a frightened little boy, fearful that he'd be sent away if those he loved knew his sins.

Of course, those sins had never really left him; they had never settled into the past. Again and again, the consequences of his decisions haunted him, destroying others along the way. And then, out of overwhelming concern and love for his family, he'd made decades' worth of more poor choices, choices that he believed were protecting them. But in actuality, he took away truth, and he denied them free will. He'd not given his family the opportunity to forgive him or to aid him.

Bella had instinctively understood that such was his nature. It was simply Edward; deep down, ingrained in some meaningful and pure way, he felt the overpowering urge to protect those around him, to shield them from any and all harm. It was this innate protectiveness, coupled with the hopeless shame for his rebellion, that propelled his lies, those blatant, as well as those by omission. It was also the weakness upon which James preyed.

As the words poured out of his mouth, almost incoherent from the speed and the low volume, a myriad of emotions played across his family's faces. Initial intrigue and concern gave way to confusion, which was replaced by pained understanding. When Edward described the grizzly feasting to which he'd succumbed and the guilt-filled aftermath, in unison, but for Carlisle, their heads nodded, indicating true sympathy. Bella surmised that despite their current _diet_, they'd all dealt with temptation and lust for human blood.

At his final admission, however, their features transformed into expressions of complete and utter shock, followed instantly by anger. Bella recognized that anger; it was the anger of betrayal and hurt. No one spoke for several minutes, as if words could not even be formed. Bella's gaze darted from vampire to vampire; they were all furious, their narrowed eyes frantically glancing back and forth between Edward and Alice.

The tense silence was suddenly interrupted. "No," Edward quietly murmured, answering some unspoken question asked by whom she didn't know.

"Because I couldn't," he continued. "I couldn't bear risking that."

His eyes opened, and he whispered, "Surely, you, you of all of us, can understand how I felt. You can understand why I wouldn't want her knowing about him."

Bella scanned their faces, searching for any movement, any tick, something to tell her with whom he was conversing. The only thing noticeable was that the sharp discomfort she'd felt from the moment Edward began revealing his history waned, and she felt inexplicably calmer.

"Will you stop!" Alice unexpectedly screeched, as she turned to Jasper. "None of that! And if you are going to talk about me, you better damn well say it out loud!"

Everyone started, and Bella thought she heard Esme gasp softly.

Alice was… _livid_. Her slight frame was quivering with rage, so much so that Bella could see the charcoal fabric of her jacket shaking, and Alice's small hands were curled into firmly balled fists. Bella could hear her breath huffing in short, shallow pants, and her eyes had turned from light amber to near black.

She continued harshly, her voice climbing both in volume and in pitch. "How could you, Edward? How could you go all this time and never tell me? You've known and you left me in the dark, knowing nothing of my past! How many times have I asked you? Begged you to tell me anything you knew. And you lied! Over and over, you lied! How? Why?"

Edward's features twisted as he looked up to face her wrath, his brows creased and his lips pulled in a tight, straight line. The hand that wasn't holding Bella's dug into the bedspread. His velvety voice was rough and filled with remorse. "I'm sorry, Alice. I'm so very sorry. For everything I've done. I was wrong, so wrong, on so many levels.

"But why?" Alice screamed, shaking a balled fist in frustration.

His eyes widened and his lips twitched. Shakily, his voiced rasped, "All I could think about was that I couldn't ever risk James learning about you or coming near the family. If he knew of you, that I'd changed you instead of killing you? For certain, he would come try to find you. He would consider you his, despite it all. And then, I couldn't bear the thought of you knowing about the evils I'd done, of how you came to be, or worse, risk _you_ trying to locate _him _for whatever reason. If I'd told you about me, then I'd have had to tell you about him."

A low, self-loathing whimper gurgled in his chest. His free hand came up and covered his eyes in shame. Involuntarily, Bella's hand tightened around his, trying to offer some measure of solace.

Reprimanded for using his gift, Jasper wrapped his arms around Alice's slight frame, trying to calm her as any male would for his mate. But Alice would have none of it; she pushed him away, glowering at him and everyone else in the room.

Speaking not just to Alice, but to his entire family, Edward stammered, "I've hated myself for so many years, and I've tried to atone for my sins. I've tried to protect you and everyone else from my past. I just couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth. If you knew, you'd despise me. And you would have every reason to. That doesn't excuse anything, that I know. I do know that. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I cannot."

"Bu-," Alice started, her brow furrowed in anger.

Suddenly, Carlisle's soothing voice interrupted, breaking the stressed exchange. "I think we need to leave for a few moments. Edward and Alice have some things they need to discuss."

While his words were mild and calmly spoken, Bella noted that there was authority there, and everyone in the room looked at him in deference. Emmett was the first to respond, nodding silently in agreement, followed by Rosalie, and then, Esme. Jasper stood steadfast, his expression warring between acquiescence and refusal. Clearly, he was loath to leave Alice in her state of shock and hurt. But like Bella, he seemed to recognize that a serious and private conversation between maker and progeny was needed.

Bella moved to slide off the bed to follow Edward's family. His fingers latched onto hers almost painfully; his head swiveled in her direction, his eyes wide and panicked.

"I'm not leaving, Edward," she said with a small, reassuring smile. "Carlisle is right. You two have some things to discuss. And I need to eat something anyway, alright?"

Reluctantly, he nodded and then pressed his cool lips to her knuckles. Releasing her hand, he pleaded, "Soon, okay?"

She'd not seen him this emotionally vulnerable and raw before, and it tugged uncomfortably at her heartstrings. She wanted nothing more than to stay with him and comfort him. But Carlisle _was_ right. Unwillingly, Bella flashed him another forced smile and whispered, "Soon."

Minutes later, she nervously sat on a long sofa with plush, deep-set cream-colored cushions beside a grimacing Rosalie. Emmett and Carlisle sat opposite her on another sofa, identical in style and color, and Jasper paced anxiously back and forth in front of a wide brick and mortar hearth.

"Here, dear," Esme murmured, handing her a cup of sweet-smelling steaming tea. "This is supposedly relaxing and good for you. Tell me if you need lemon or sugar. I'm not really sure any more to be honest."

Bella looked up and smiled, noting again the kindness and tenderness of Edward's mother-figure. "Thank you," she replied sincerely. "I'm sure it's fine."

While she couldn't hear anything, it was apparent that they did. She'd momentarily forgotten about their extraordinary sense of hearing. Leaving the room was more of a courtesy than anything. As she sipped the hot liquid, she studied the Cullens' expressions, trying to weigh their thoughts.

As he had been in the room, Jasper was obviously listening and feeling everything going on upstairs, poised to act at a moment's notice. Bella couldn't decide, however, if he was angry or not. He simply looked… _focused_. With no doubt, he despised seeing Alice in pain, as if it physically hurt him. And considering his talents, it most likely did. But Bella thought that, just perhaps, Edward's answer to his silent query had been accurate, that were their positions reversed, Jasper might have made the same choices. She wasn't sure.

Carlisle wore a mask of concern, not anger or irritation, but worry. Whether he was worried for Edward, for Alice, or for both, Bella could not discern. Esme's expression was fretful, although Bella could tell she was trying to hide her apprehension. In a very human manner, she uneasily tugged at the hem of her ivory blouse.

"So, how did he do it, Carlisle? Did you know?" Emmett asked gravely. His brows were high and open, not revealing any sign of judgment.

Bella's head cocked to the side, not really understanding his question or accusation. _Did he mean how did he turn her?_ she wondered.

"No, Emmett, I didn't know at all," Carlisle replied softly, looking out the window to the thick line of trees. "When Edward arrived with Alice, she was still turning and was completely incoherent. At the time, Esme and I were alone, living outside of Bismarck."

Carlisle stopped, his expression shifting in contemplation, and he turned to Bella. With a gentle smile, he explained, "Edward was my first, Bella. I'm not sure how much he has told you. Did he tell you about the family? About himself?"

Bella shook her head. "Not much really. He told me that you were the eldest, that you'd been turned centuries before. And he said that he was ill, minutes from death when you changed him. But not really more than that. We- we didn't get to that before…," she whispered, unable to complete her sentence. She flinched as the sound of Edward's neck snapping echoed in her mind.

The sudden tightening of Carlisle's ocher eyes told her that he understood. Quietly, he continued, offering her some knowledge of the family's history, "That's correct. I was born during the time of Cromwell, if that helps you gauge. My father was a priest, and at his behest, I was out leading a hunting party, one hunting vampires. Back in that time, Bella, vampires and witches and black magic were real and were the vicious enemies of the Church.

"Regardless, one evening, somehow we actually located a _real_ vampire living in the old sewer system servicing the outskirts of London. The old one we found was weak, but he had more than enough strength to overpower me. I remember very little afterward, but some days later, I awoke to my new life.

"At first, I couldn't bear it, the idea of killing my fellow man to survive. More than once, I tried to end myself, but as you've seen, we're _difficult_ to destroy. So, I starved myself. I drove myself out into the forest where I could no longer smell humans and be tempted by them. I withered away and became weak from thirst. One day, however, after my thirst had intensified to the point of being utterly unbearable, to the point where I was truly considering crawling back into town to feed, I happened across a herd of deer."

Carlisle eyes lightened at the memory and said, "And it was then that I learned we could exist without murder. For centuries, I roamed Europe and then finally, the United States. I mastered languages and researched cultures, and I found my true calling as a physician. I studied and learned everything I possibly could, endeavoring to know everything about the human body and medical condition."

"But the blood? How can you do it?" Bella asked, momentarily lost in his story, distracted from the earlier stress of the day.

Carlisle smiled warmly, "It isn't so bad. In fact, I barely notice it anymore. But it's worth it to me. I can do so much good, help so many. In reality, my senses enable me to do far more than an average physician.

"It was in a Chicago hospital that I met Edward. At the time, influenza was on the rise. Of course, at its peak, it was a raging demon, striking whole neighborhoods, taking hundreds from the city each day. His mother and father both had died early on, and Edward was so very close himself. I was working days and nights, as much as I could possibly get away with without raising suspicions. Every few hours I checked on him, and with each passing moment, he grew weaker and weaker. I can't explain it; when I looked into his bright green eyes, I saw goodness and light. I saw a desire for more. And after so very many years of solitude, I wanted a companion, someone to talk to, to share news. I was lonely."

Bella barely noticed it when a second cup of tea was pressed into her hand. The heat radiating through the fine white porcelain felt comforting, and the faint smell of sweet spices relaxed her tension.

Carlisle glanced out to the forest again. "Like I said, Edward was my first. And as he explained, we lived together for several years. It was after he left that I found Esme, much as I'd found Edward."

"I was on my deathbed, freezing in a makeshift hospital tent," Esme lightly interrupted. She moved to stand behind Carlisle and placed a slender hand over his shoulder. "I'd lost a husband overseas in the Great War, and I lost a child from scarlet fever. Out of my despair, I tried to end my life rather unsuccessfully. And Carlisle was my physician."

Carlisle's hand covered hers, and he said tenderly, "She was alone, no family, no husband. And I couldn't stop myself. There was something there between us even then, and again, I didn't want to be alone."

Esme chuckled, "Of course you always leave out the part where I asked you to kiss me before I died. You were so attractive, like God's angel."

Bella could not hide her responding smile. As she looked around, she noticed that they all were smiling as well, all but Jasper. He was still pacing with an expression of intense focus and concentration. He was listening to everything being said above, perhaps not even noticing their conversation below.

"But it was late in the night when Edward arrived with Alice. He'd been running for at least two solid days carrying her. Her frail body was wracked with violent convulsions, the final throes of the transformation. The wound at her wrist was sealed, and there was no hint of venom's smell. If there had been, I'd have known immediately that Edward had changed her. But she was only a few hours from her final heartbeat.

"Edward was vague in his explanations, saying that he'd found Alice in a St. Louis alleyway, abandoned by her maker. I wondered, and I should have pressed him for more. But truthfully, I was so stunned to see him that I could scarcely speak. I didn't even know he knew where we were, or even about Esme. Before he'd left, we'd discussed a few cities as next homes. How he chose Bismarck and not St. Paul, I'm still not sure.

"But we were both floored and elated that he came home. I saw his eyes and knew that he'd been drinking from humans. I could see the disgrace in his face; he would barely look at me. He was so repentant, and he begged me to take Alice, to care for her as I'd done for him.

"Of course we did. As soon as we settled her onto a bed to await the finality of her change, he made to leave. As clear as a bell I remember his words. 'Carlisle, I know that you cannot forgive me for the wrongs that I have done. I know that I cannot be welcome here, that I do not deserve any words from you. But thank you for taking her. Unlike me, she deserves a chance.'

"He was so broken, so miserable and in so much anguish. I couldn't allow him to leave again. He was my son, after all. We convinced him to stay, and I never asked him for any details on the years he'd been gone. He didn't want to talk about it; he was too ashamed, too guilt-ridden. And I suppose I didn't want to know, didn't want to make him share details. Instead, we went on as though those years had never occurred."

Bella tried to imagine Edward then. All of the brooding and self-loathing now made so much sense. _Broken_ was such an appropriate description. _So many decades of guilt and lies and fear._ She felt desperate to climb that flight of stairs to be with him.

"And the rest of you?" she asked, trying to divert her attention.

Esme's expression relaxed, as though she were a human mother speaking of her children.

"Rosalie was next," she said, smiling at her _daughter_. "Her human history is her own story to share, but she came to us near death as well."

Glancing over to Jasper, who had finally stopped pacing but was now gazing upward to the ceiling, Esme continued, "Jasper had a very different life in the beginning. He is second oldest, changed during the Civil War. Out of all of us, Jasper probably relates to Edward's past the most."

Esme's head cocked to the side, considering her own words but not elaborating. This information was surprising to Bella; she'd assumed him to be another of Carlisle's creations.

"No, Jasper found us," Esme started again. "Or rather, Alice found him. While we were living in the Northeast, one weekend she traveled down to Philadelphia on a hunting expedition, hunting of the material sort, mind you. But when she returned, she had more than bolts of fabric in tow."

"I joined last," Emmett laughed, a stark contrast to his previously serious demeanor. His dimpled cheeks were impossible not to respond to, and Bella found herself grinning.

"I was fighting the losing end of a battle with a bear down in Tennessee. And lo and behold, an angel swooped in and saved me."

Bella's brow raised, not really understanding.

"My Rosie. She saved me. God only knows why, but she did. She carried me probably two hundred miles to Carlisle so that he could change me."

Glancing across the sofa, she saw Rosalie's pale and flawless jaw relax, and the grimace faded. There was affection and love in her eyes as she stared across the room at her husband and mate.

Suddenly, Bella understood something else about Edward. Despite living with his family, in many ways, he had been alone for his entire existence. While his brothers and sisters had all paired off, finding their perfect mates, he had not.

The room fell silent again; Bella imagined that they were all intent on what was being said above them. She wasn't sure how long they'd been downstairs, but looking outside, there was a pale pink tint to the sky and to the surrounding area. It had rained, and even inside, she could smell the cleanness of the washed air. The grass glittered with twinkling drops of moisture, and puddles reflected the sinking sun.

"I'm sorry," Bella whispered abruptly. "I've caused so much stress in your family."

Each pair of eyes snapped to her direction, and a collective "No!" resounded against the high ceiling.

For the first time all day, it was Rosalie that spoke. Her voice was low and soft, but firm. "No, Bella. None of this is your fault. Of course we're angry with Edward. Furious even. I'd like to throttle him. I can't even imagine what Jasper would like to do right now. But we'll figure this out in time."

She continued with a purposeful expression, as if she were remembering. "We've weathered storms before. We've all had our trials. Yes, this one is the… _biggest_. But we will make it work somehow."

Rosalie looked around, searching for affirmation. Each face softened slightly and nodded.

"You probably can't see it, Bella, but we can, we who have known him for so long. Despite this 'game' and James and everything, something different is going on with Edward. Something new. For so long, he has been alone. Since Emmett joined the family, Edward has been the odd man out, always on the outskirts, watching us pair off."

Strangely, Rosalie's words echoed her thoughts from before.

"But now, something has changed. He's found what we weren't sure he'd ever find. You. You are as much a part of the family as any of us. At least, if you want to be."

For a moment Bella was silent, too shaken to respond. She'd spoken maybe ten words to Rosalie since they had carried Edward's unconscious body inside. Her approval was… _unexpected_.

"Bu-but I'm human. How does that even work?" Bella whispered, looking down at her borrowed lounge pants.

It was Esme who answered. She crossed the length of the room and sat sideways between Bella and Rosalie. Sighing, she brushed Bella's hair back and out of her face. "Oh, my dear. We can't answer that for you. That is something that only you and Edward can figure out."

"What do you mean? Yo-you mean him change me?" she stuttered.

As she said the words, her chest filled with something unfamiliar. There was fear and apprehension. But the idea was there, the concept that she could be with him forever.

* * *

_**April 13, 2009  
9:16 pm  
The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington**_

Eyes clamped shut, he filled his lungs, deeply inhaling her enthralling scent, potent from her days' vigil by his side. Whereas only days prior it had done nothing but scorch his throat, now Bella's perfume was the only thing, short of her physical presence, that soothed him.

As Alice departed the room, he prayed that Bella would soon be at his door. If not, he knew that it would be but a matter of minutes before he rose to locate her. And he felt more than well enough to do that. Impatient, his body ached and twitched with the desire to jump up and run to find her at that very second. In an attempt to stay himself, he focused on the sound of her thrumming heart reverberating through the floor from below, and he counted its beats. The incessant ticking of the wall clock interrupted and marred her perfect rhythm.

Thankfully, he did not have to wait or search for her. As soon as he heard Alice and Jasper walk out of the house, the telltale sound of Bella's light footfalls on the wooden staircase echoed throughout the house. His eyes opened and his gaze immediately trained to the door, unwilling to waste a single second of seeing her face.

Just outside, she paused; Edward could hear her thundering heartbeat speed and her breathing grow shallow. She was trying to gather herself, from what or for what, he was not entirely certain. He'd heard every word that had been said before, including Bella's last question. _Could she even want that? _he wondered. Some part of him was hopeful, daring to wish, while the other, the more dominant side told him that she could want no such thing.

After a too-long minute of pondering, he watched the wooden door slowly creak open.

"Edward?" she asked softly, peeking her dark head around the door. "May I? May I come in?"

As soon as their eyes locked, russet to crimson, her hesitancy departed and she whipped inside the room. She took just a moment to shut the door before crossing the floor almost at a jog.

"Come here," he breathed, as she reached the side of the bed. "Please?"

Without questioning, she climbed up and immediately settled against his side, throwing her slender arm across his chest. A wave of heat and perfume crashed over him, finally granting him relief and comfort.

"I'm sorry," Bella murmured, hiding her face in the thin fabric of his shirt. "I know that wasn't pleasant. I wish that I could have helped you somehow."

Edward sighed, not having anticipated her direction. A welling of emotion bubbled to the surface. "I was afraid that you would leave, that this all would be too much. I don't des-"

"Stop it," she snapped, almost angrily. "Stop right now. I won't listen to you berate yourself over and over again."

His arms cinched around her slim waist, holding on, fearing that she would float away despite her protestations. _She is too good, too pure, and too perfect_, he lamented. Yet, somehow, some way, she was here. His unbeating heart started and rapped in time to hers. Inhaling, he leaned down and buried his face in her hair, savoring her presence.

"What did she say?" Bella asked quietly.

Edward breathed, refusing to pull away from her, "She's angry, terribly so. And there is nothing I can say or do to replace what I stole from her."

"She and Jasper left," Bella stated evenly. "Will they come back?"

"Yes. Alice needed to be apart from the family for a while. And of course, where Alice goes, Jasper goes. They won't be gone too long. She just needs peace and quiet. She has a lot to think about."

"What did you tell her?"

Edward looked up. He grasped Bella's hand and brought her palm up to his lips. "What little I know. Everything I have is indirectly from James. Her name, her family's name, why she was there. But Alice wanted details that I don't have. This is one of the reasons I never told her."

"Will she search out James?" Bella asked hastily, quick to deduce the possibility and frightened by the prospect.

"No, I don't believe so. We spent most of the time talking about the _other games _that James initiated, the other lives he destroyed. Alice was appalled and angry. She knows he is dangerous, and she feels as I do, that he needs to die to protect the family and you.

"She will be back. But it may be decades before she truly forgives me, if ever. I've earned that."

"And Jasper?" Bella continued, her voice muffled by his chest. He could feel her lips moving against his flesh, even through the fabric.

"At first, he was livid, enraged that I'd do something like this to Alice, that I'd hurt her intentionally. But now, now I'd say he is almost thankful. I listened to his thoughts just as he listened to us. He's heard about James's games. And he's seen first-hand of what James is capable. After all, he and Carlisle have mended me twice now. I think, in some way, he is grateful that I kept James away from her."

Bella's fingers gripped his side. "What will we do now?" she asked, her small frame shaking against his.

Edward's arms tightened, and his voice steeled. "I won't let him harm you, Bella. _We_ won't let him. I can't tolerate you being hurt in any way."

Her head tilted upward, and she looked at him imploringly, searching his face, reaching into his depths. His breathing matched hers, and the air around them suddenly electrified.

Bella's dark eyes gleamed with an emotion he could not quite pinpoint. It was kind and trusting, affectionate and tender. And there was something else. _Heat and urgency._ While he could not name what exactly it was, what single emotion he was seeing, her looking at him _that_ way flooded his entire being with warmth and want.

Silent and unmoving, he watched her slowly lift up and turn such that their faces were almost level. Inches away, he could feel her hot breath, sweetened by her otherworldly fragrance. Involuntarily, his eyes dropped to her lips, wanting nothing more than to press his to hers, to feel her flesh upon his.

Carefully, with human speed, he leaned down, approaching her with open eyes, waiting for any sign of rebuff. Instead, she startled him by suddenly closing the distance between them and clamping her mouth to his.

Instantly, he reacted, gasping at contact. But he did not pull away, he _could not_. His hand shot up and gently cupped her cheek, holding her face to his, unwilling to part. The other slid down and rested on the top curve of her hip, the tips of his fingers pressing gently into her heated skin.

Almost simultaneously, a slender arm wrapped around his neck and delicate fingers threaded through the tangled hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his mouth more firmly to hers. Another pawed at his chest and midsection, outlining the angular dips and valleys of his muscles.

As before, lips parted, and tongues danced and weaved. Deftly, she stole beneath his shirt and resumed her exploration. Guided by her movements, Edward followed suit, tentatively stroking the supple and silken bare skin beneath the fabric of _her_ shirt. A soft moan resounded and shook his body as his thumb caressed and traced the curve of her breast.

Her hands were like branding irons, searing so pleasantly into his cool skin. Unfamiliar longings assaulted both his mind and body, and he shivered in response. He wanted to wrap himself around her and hold her there for all time.

For minutes or hours – he wasn't sure – James and Alice and the rest of the family were forgotten, and Edward was overcome and completely overtaken by intense emotion coupled with newly discovered physical desire. The onslaught of sensations – the feel of her warm and soft body molding to his, her perfect perfume, her taste, the sounds of her ragged breathing and pounding heart – was almost too much. Yet he wanted more; he wanted to love her completely.

Her eyes stared into his, filled with reciprocated want and… _love_. It was as though _she_ could read _his_ thoughts. It was as though she wanted him as he wanted her… for as long as he existed, for eternity.

And for once, he was laid bare, all secrets exposed. He placed himself at her mercy and vowed to gleefully take whatever part of herself she would give. Silently, he begged for what he dared not ask, for time, for time without end.

"I love you, Edward," she murmured against his lips.

"Always," he whispered.

"Always," she repeated.

His eyes widened in comprehension.


	21. Retribution

**_April 13, 2009_**  
**_9:12 pm_**  
**_Just outside of the Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington_**

The smells of the forest washed over him, wet earth mixed with laurel and pine. In the distance, he could smell the tang of deer. It was peppery and entirely unappetizing. How they could drink _that_, he could not fathom.

With the daily rains, the ground was wet and soggy, black with decomposing leaves and debris. Fallen logs in varying stages of rot decorated the landscape, and low-lying bushes and brambles carpeted the forest floor. All around him, it was quiet. Instinctively, birds ceased chirping and furred creatures hid away, sensing his danger. The only discernable sounds came from within the house.

Through the large plate-glass windows he watched them. He watched their idiot smiles, the way they indulged and catered to the pathetic human girl, the way they interacted with each other. They were not vampires, he decided. They were a lesser species, something in between prey and predator. _They are just like him. Cullen_, he thought. Edward's name was spat, as if a curse.

Before, he had not believed that he could despise his former coven member more than he already had; he'd spent the last eight decades fostering and nurturing the animosity between them. No, he'd not thought it possible to revile that hypocrite any more thoroughly. That was, however, until he saw her running into the alleyway behind the store. At that moment, frustration mounted, and his hatred soared to new heights.

He had been deceived for all of this time. Fight after fight, stupid human after stupid human, he was the one who had been played. That weakling hadn't drunk her as he'd assumed; he had turned her. Cullen had betrayed his coven, stolen his singer, and then he had hidden her away, entrenching her in his life of inane human coddling. _A waste and an insult of the highest order_. Any 'fun' or entertainment in their games had long since passed; this was pure, black vengeance.

Cloaked by the darkened sky and the thick trees and overgrown bush, James was silent. A coiled viper, poised to strike, he waited and watched. He had smartly positioned himself such that his scent was carried away by the prevailing winds. And carefully, he masked his thoughts, a skill he had mastered years ago. His time was limited, however. This time, he did not want Cullen detecting his presence; the purpose for this trip was _reconnaissance_.

But it was difficult. _Oh, so difficult._ Inside, he was a caged and unhinged beast, begging to roar and to snap. His vision was blurred from his fury, tinged bright red. Were it not for centuries of forced control, he would be bodily shaking from the intensity of his rage. More than anything, he wanted to rush the house and take down his enemy.

"Alice, where are you going? Please don't leave," the one called Esme asked, her voice choked with sorrow.

His breath caught in his throat as _she_ came into sight, haloed by the soft light from the overhead chandelier. She was precisely as she'd been years ago, only her slender, dark features had smoothed and perfected during her transformation. It was as though time had not passed, and instead of the well-groomed creature of the present, he saw her as she had been then: filthy and grimy, clothed in a thin and dingy hospital gown. Despite so many decades, the smell of her perfect human blood boiled up in his memory, and the remembered sound of her rasping and gurgling heartbeat rumbled in his ears.

_Cullen will pay for this_, he seethed.

Vivid and graphic images of the tortures he had planned for Cullen's singer almost overwhelmed him. Quickly, however, he quashed those too-loud thoughts, knowing that he would be discovered if he could not control his mind.

Small and light, she bounded down the stairs, her steps echoing the anger she'd unleashed against her maker. The discussion with Cullen had not gone well for him. Hearing his suffering and pleading and remorse had been the singular bright spot of the past few days.

_Alice_ did not answer the beseeching query of her mothering coven member. Instead, she pointedly eyed her mate, the male they called Jasper, and they left the house. Fortunately, they took to the forest opposite him and sped away without so much as a look backward.

Jasper was clearly a fighter; he was lean and muscled and had the easy yet alert stance of a seasoned vampire warlord. Since he'd been observing, James noted that Jasper was constantly watching, assessing, and cataloguing his surroundings. And more telling were the crescent shaped scars littering his flesh, glittering in the light, indicating that he had fought his own kind many times over and had been victorious.

Despite his few words, his still-lingering drawl had placed him a Southerner, and then, Esme had all but confirmed James's conclusions with her reminiscing. Considering all of the evidence, everything pointed to Jasper as being one of the few survivors of the Newborn Wars of the South._ A formidable foe, indeed_, James pondered.

Add this Jasper to the other two younger males, lightning-fast Cullen and the large, heavily built one named Emmett, and the risk was high. These three were worthy and potentially lethal opponents. And as much as he hated to admit his own weakness, were it not for Laurent's intervention, Cullen might have proven triumphant during their last skirmish. While James had anticipated Cullen being hot, he had not been prepared for the level of speed, strength, and rage which he had exhibited while protecting that fragrant girl.

James noted that having Victoria fetch the two newest members of their coven was a wise move. They would be five strong, and the two add-ons were easily expendable. At the very least, they could provide distraction while he executed his plan.

He smiled and only just contained a laugh.

Moments before Alice had departed, a shrill, irritating buzz had floated on the breeze, immediately focusing his attention.

"Hello?" the girl had chirped. "Dad, hey."

_Pause._

"No, no. I'm fine," she rushed.

Even from his distant vantage, he could see the blood pool beneath the thin veil of skin covering her cheeks. With gale-force effort, he fought imagining his teeth piercing her pink flesh. _That _would grab Cullen's attention instantly.

She was quiet, listening to her father. Her shoulders were taut, her stress evident. _The girl isn't quite as naïve as I thought_, he realized with satisfaction. Her anxiety was an added bonus.

Quietly, she answered, "He's fine, too."

_Pause._

As she glanced around the room, her lips turned up into a thin smile. "I'm really okay here. The Cullens are wonderful. I really love them. It's… it's easier for me to be with people instead of being alone at the house."

James chuckled silently, shaking his head at her absurd chatter.

"Dad, really. I'm just so… so worried about you. You aren't sleeping, and you are out searching for a-" she whispered.

_Such a weak girl_, he grated. Other than her scent, little could redeem her. Cullen's fascination with her was perplexing; why he didn't just drink her and be done with it, James could not comprehend. The girl was good for her blood, and her blood only. Leaving her breathing and alive was a waste.

"I know it's your job. But Da-"

_Pause._

The girl sighed and wrung her hands nervously. Her dark eyes clenched shut, and James could see her chest rising and falling with fast, shallow breaths.

"Okay, I know. Please, please be careful."

Her eyes opened, glassy and wet, and a lone fat tear fell down her cheek. Her voice shook as she spoke. "I love you, too. I'll see you in a couple of days."

As he raced away from the too-white and too-bright house, violent images of pale flesh and dark hair mangled and bloody rose to the surface, and he laughed, _We'll see about that, my dearest Isabella. Cullen won't recognize you when I'm through with you_.

* * *

**_April 16, 2009_**  
**_2:18 pm_**  
**_The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington_**

"They've been gone for so long, Carlisle," Esme whispered, as she rearranged the contents of the kitchen cabinets yet again. It was mindless activity, something that she'd hoped would distract her from her grief.

But her efforts were unsuccessful. Edward could hear her thoughts; she feared the worst, that Alice and Jasper were truly gone and were not returning. She felt as though her family had been fractured, split in two, never to be reconciled. Through Carlisle's eyes, he could see his mother double over with silent, dry shudders, her arms wrapped around her chest, fists gripping the thin dark cotton of her blouse.

Pain and worry radiated from behind the closed kitchen door, only partly subsiding when Carlisle pulled her into his steady embrace.

"It's only been a few days. You know Alice. She's rightfully hurt and angry. She just needs a little bit of time. But she won't be gone forever. She loves you too much, loves us all, even Edward," he whispered soothingly, gently rubbing slow circles along her lower back.

Her voice was muffled against stiffly starched fabric, but her words were perfectly clear, ringing in Edward's ears. "I'm so worried about him," she returned. "He shoulders so much. Have you seen him lately? Was he really so wrong in hiding her horrid past? I- I don't know if I can blame him, Carlisle. You know him, better than any of us. You understand him. Was he really so wrong?"

Edward's eyes snapped shut, and his body tensed, pressing deeply into the cream-colored cushion at his back. Thus far, he'd yet to receive the condemnation from his family that he'd expected. They all seemed torn, half agreeing with him, half wanting to strangle him. Carlisle had been the most guarded in his judgment; as of yet, his thoughts had given no indication of his stance. His thoughts remained in the present, worrying over James and what it would take to keep the family intact and safe.

Bella was seated on the plush rug beneath him, situated between his legs with her head lolled back and leaning against the inside of his knee. As soon as he shifted and stiffened, he felt her respond in kind. Yet she said nothing, intuitively understanding that he was hearing some difficult exchange. Instead of questioning, she merely wrapped an arm around his calf and hugged him close, offering him warmth and some measure of solace.

"I'm not sure what I'd have done, to be honest," Carlisle said finally. "I understand his motivations, I truly do. And a large part of me respects him for wanting to keep all of us safe, especially considering the peril at which he has placed his own life. And I understand the fear of being turned away because of your past. Edward's soul is good; I can't ever deny that. I know where his heart was.

"Though out of all of us, Alice needed the truth the most. She was in the dark for so long, never recalling a single image from her human life. The rest of us had something at least, something to hold on to; she's had nothing. I must admit, however…I-, I'm not sure that she's any better off knowing the horrors her human self bore. I can't imagine the pain and abuse she endured.

"I just don't know. But right or wrong, it doesn't change anything. And Edward has suffered enough, been punished enough for his wrongs. Physically, mentally, emotionally, he's more than paid for those years."

Carlisle sighed, and Edward heard a soft rustling of fabric. With unexpected conviction, he continued, "He deserves happiness. I've watched him through the years and never have I seen a light in his eyes as I'm seeing now. Our son deserves her."

The moment the words were said, Edward felt as though some weight, a weight that he'd not even realized he carried, lifted. He exhaled the deep breath he didn't recall holding, and his face tilted to the ceiling. For a long moment, he stared upward, still and silent, considering his maker's declaration.

Flickering light and images bounced off the pale ceiling, reflections from the television program no one was really watching. The actors' stilted dialogue barely touched his awareness. Instead, he focused on the warmth resting against him, and he replayed the words over and over.

_Always_, she had whispered.

_Our son deserves her._

Since the night Alice had left, he and Bella had not spoken of their brief yet potentially existence-altering conversation. Her reply had been the last word uttered that evening, with the remainder of her conscious hours having been consumed by their urgent embraces and fervent, _unspoken_ communication.

Touching her and kissing her hot, perfumed skin had been something akin to religion; he'd wanted nothing more than to worship her body with his own. Point in fact, since that night, he found himself regularly pondering such an event. His body was certainly willing, as was his heart. _But can I? Do I have that level of restraint? _he wondered. _She's so very fragile. Were she a vampire_, the question would be completely irrelevant.

At that thought, a dozen more questions sparked and filtered through his mind. _But does she really want that? Were her words merely spoken out of raw emotion? Does she truly understand? Would she be willing to leave her life and all she knows? Could she really want me as I want her? Can I ask that of her?_

"Edward?" she asked quietly, pulling him out of his abstraction. Her grip tightened around his denim-covered calf, and he sighed at the feel of her soft and pliable body wrapping around his.

His hand drifted down his thigh to where she was leaned against him. Tenderly, he wound his fingers through her dark hair and found the pale, smooth skin of her neck. Humming his response, he lightly ran his thumb down her throat, pausing over her pulse point. At his touch, her heartbeat jolted to life, drawing his eyes down to her small form curled up beneath him.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, staring out the window. "Have you heard anything from Alice or Jasper?"

"No," he replied. "Don't worry. Everyone thinks she will be back. Including me. We just have to be patient and give her time."

Without speaking, Bella turned her body around such that she was sitting facing him. She looked up at him, and her brows knitted together as if in apprehension, as if she feared her own next words. Her lips pursed in a hard, straight line, refusing to part.

Alarmed by her unease, he rushed, "What is it? Why do you look so troubled, Bella? Please don't worry about Alice. We _will _figure all this out."

As he spoke, he recognized that he meant every word. At some point, they _would _reconcile. Alice might not forgive him entirely, but she would not cause Esme or Carlisle pain; Carlisle was right about that. Years upon years of perfectly stored memories raced through his mind.

"I-, it's not that, really," she answered nervously.

He was puzzled, and for what had to have been the thousandth time, Edward wished he were privy to her thoughts. Gently, he tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

"Tell me, please, Bella. Why are you anxious? Tell me what to do," he murmured, as he traced the delicate line of her jaw.

He watched warily as she sucked in a deep breath, as if to steady or prepare herself.

"Was it difficult? Turning Alice, I mean," she whispered, as her eyes flitted from his to her hands and then back up again.

Every voice in the house silenced, and every thought turned to their conversation. The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed and warped, and it felt as though his limbs were wading through water.

He swallowed thickly as he considered her question. Long since, he'd vowed to be honest with her, no matter the consequence. He decided that this would be no different. He had to be honest with her, about this topic especially.

In a voice barely above a whisper, he replied truthfully, "Yes. Very much so."

Her eyes locked to his, and she nodded in understanding. "You wanted to drink her?"

"No and yes," he said softly. "I didn't want to drink her, but my body did. Instinctively, the smell of human blood does that to us. It was a battle of willpower, you might say."

Her eyes narrowed as she absorbed his response. Her head tilted slightly, and a finger drummed against his leg.

"Would it be worse for you if it were me?" she mouthed. Even with his acute hearing, he only just understood her words.

His breath caught in his throat. As evidence of his discomfort, his palm shot up and roughly dry washed his face.

_Yes! _he wanted to scream. While his body no longer wished to devour her, he could not guarantee how it would respond were he to taste her again. _That_ particular memory, the sweet perfection of her blood, was one that he purposefully avoided at all costs. And now, it returned and attacked with frightening vengeance. The low burn in his throat flared to life.

Shaking his head, he whispered against his palm, "Yes, Bella. It would be far worse for me."

"But could you?" she pressed immediately, not pausing for a second. Her expression altered inexplicably. She looked… _determined._

His breath came out in sharp, labored pants, as though his chest were being compressed. It was not unlike the feel of his sternum collapsing beneath James's pummeling fists. Sudden images of her body, blanched white, prone and comatose and slick with bright red blood, rattled through his mind. He remembered in startling detail the mind-shattering terror of her scream, the bare whisper of her heartbeat, and the pure, unbridled agony of thinking her dead. His muscles seized as he launched into near panic. He felt physically ill, and his stomach involuntarily rolled and heaved. The room spun dizzyingly, a whirl of beiges and whites and browns.

_No! _he nearly shrieked, anguished and enraged over the idea of her no longer existing. He shook his head, desperately trying to clear his thoughts of such horror before it claimed his sanity.

_Drinking her would be an impossibility_, he realized. That demon had truly been exorcised. His mind and body violently rejected just the mention of it, despite her blood's allure.

"Yes," he stuttered.

A small and knowing smile crept across her face, and she hugged her arms tightly around his legs. He could feel the slight trembles rippling through her body, and her heart raced at an unprecedented pace. Her dark eyes were wide and open, deep and clear; there was no misconception or confusion in her reaction.

"Okay," she answered simply.

"You realize what it means, right?" he breathed. "You can't go back. You'd leave everything behind."

Her gaze dropped to the rug, studying the intricate patterns and swirls. Her thumbs slid up and down, her nails roughly scraping the denim. It sounded like thunder to his ears.

"I know, Edward. I need to see my dad first."

Edward immediately leaned forward to the edge of the couch, and he grasped her by the tops of her arms. He bent down, pressing his forehead to hers, rolling back in forth in disbelief.

"Are you certain?" he asked, his voice shaking. His eyes shut, unable to meet hers with the emotion coursing though him.

"Without question," she said before pressing her lips to his.

* * *

_**April 16, 2009**_  
_**7:12 pm**_  
_**Six miles Northeast of Kalaloch, Washington**_

The small hunting party decided to split up, each man following the traces that Laurent and Victoria had planted at James's direction. A footprint here, a torn piece of fabric there, these men were so easy to lure. They were naïve and juvenile. Most had never before been involved in a murder case, let alone murders involving a serial killer.

James supposed 'serial killer' was quite the apropos title. He'd certainly killed more than any human murderer had ever even dreamt. He was as lethal as any predator living. Or dead, he corrected with a sneer and chuckle.

Through the darkened forest he traveled, lightly and silently floating from branch to branch, always staying above his intended prey. Never once had any of them looked upward. They all believed that they were dealing with a mortal, another human, one who was limited as they were limited.

They each held their rifles and pistols with white-knuckled grips, ready to act, ready to shoot on sight. The sharp, spicy cloy of adrenaline wafted up and swirled in the breeze. They were fearful but excited. They were hunting. Little did they realize that they were the prey, the _hunted_.

James watched the bobble of one particular flashlight. It was dark for them, he realized. The thickness of the virgin forest shut out the remaining light from the setting sun, leaving a gray and shadowy landscape. Sparsely scattered shards of golden light pierced the darkness, creating, for the humans, a surreal and frightening scene.

Carefully, he followed his mark. The clop and squish of his boots was loud, resonating in the closed space. As he ventured away from his fellow hunters, his footsteps marched in time to the thud of his heart and to the intake of his breath.

_Just a touch farther_, James thought, silently coaxing his prey. _I need you alone. Interferences would be… an irritation_.

Within twenty minutes, the man had trekked a solid mile and a half from the others in his small party. James appraised the man's woodsman skills and decided that he was almost competent. He'd anticipated having to wait longer, especially considering the terrain. The man knew the area and he knew himself in a forest.

The man stopped to consult a small electronic mapping device in a clearing, a space no more than ten feet in diameter, relatively flat and with light growth. Years ago, the clearing had been a hunting and camping stopover; the charred ground and ring of rocks from years of campfires showed as evidence. But this place had not been used in at least two years; the ground and foliage was completely untouched. James's acute senses picked up nothing of the acrid odor of burned cellulose.

"What the hell are we doing?" the man huffed, talking to himself. "There's no one in these woods. It's like we're on a wild goose chase."

Soundlessly, James dropped to the ground behind the man, gracefully landing on the balls of his feet. He stood upright in an easy, relaxed stance. There was nothing to fear for James; this would be enjoyable.

"I wouldn't say 'no one'," he purred. "In fact, I'd say that I'm just the 'one' you are looking for."

A shudder rolled down the man's back, and he stiffened. Quickly, he spun on his heel and met James with a stunned and startled expression. His brows climbed nearly to his hairline, and his lips dropped open.

"Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?" the man sputtered, raising his weapon.

The cock of a pistol hammer popped in the stillness. The man's feet shuffled into a ready position.

"Oh, Chief Swan! Does it really matter who I am? I don't think it does," James answered cheerfully.

A bead of sweat rolled down the man's face as he steadied his aim with his free hand.

"Mister, you better get on your knees right now. I will shoot you," he ordered.

James threw back his head with a loud laugh. _Delightful! _he thought. _He has a backbone._

"By all means, shoot away!" he said with a smirk and nonchalant wave of his hand. Not waiting, he took an evenly measured step toward the man. _No need to rush this_, he reminded himself.

"Stop! You stop right where you are! You put your hands in the air and drop," the man shouted. He jerked away his support arm and fumbled with radio clip on his dark green collar.

In a blur, James was inches from the man's face with one hand gripping the barrel of the service revolver. His other hand wrapped around the man's hand and radio. Flexing his fingers, he crumpled both the man's bones and the radio. A sharp, satisfying exhalation and cry of pain resounded in his ears. The smell of terror radiated from the man's flesh.

"Tsk, tsk, Chief Swan. This is just between us. No interferences," he hissed as he released his hand.

The man tugged on the revolver, trying to pull it away. Unsuccessful, he relented control of the weapon and backed away. Step by step, he retreated until his spine bumped into a wide, burly tree trunk.

Frantically, he reached around to his back to locate his back-up weapon. Wincing, he pulled his now-mangled hand up against his chest, protecting it from further damage. It was already swelling and darkening to purplish-black.

"It's you, isn't it? You are the one, the one who killed Jacob and the others," he accused as he found his second weapon. A sliver of sunlight penetrated the green blanket overhead and glinted off the black steel of the semi-automatic.

James smiled and returned, "How I wish it were so, my dear Chief. But alas, Mr. Black's death was not by my hand. However, it was at my behest. My wife is quite skilled, you see. She enjoyed hearing your daughter's scream when she found her friend."

At the mention of his daughter, the blood drained from the man's face and his heartbeat stampeded in his chest. For a moment, James feared the man would die from cardiac arrest before he had his chance.

"Ah, I hit a nerve, I see. Your daughter? Our dearest _Isabella?_ She is such a lovely girl. So fragrant and soft."

"What did you do to her?" the man screamed, his eyes wild and twitching. "You leave her alone!"

"How endearing! A father's love!" James sighed, clasping his hands together in mockery.

"Rest assured, Chief, Isabella is safe. For now. She's being guarded by those pesky Cullens. No doubt, have no fear, I'll have her, too. Soon enough," he said with a knowing wink.

A boom of gunfire exploded and echoed. Instantly, James felt the tickle of steel against the flesh where his heart would be, were he to have one.

"Splendid! Chief Swan! Your aim is quite good," he laughed wickedly. "But I fear your piddling weapon will do little against me."

Three more shots rang out, and three more bullets bounced off his chest.

"What did I just tell you? Did you not hear me say that your gun is useless?"

James waited patiently as the man unloaded the remainder of the clip in rapid succession, each round to no avail, each bullet recoiling innocently off his vampire flesh. When the last shot fired, followed by the empty 'click', the man cowered against the tree trunk in sheer dread.

"Wha-what are you?" he stuttered in a wheezy and breathless voice. The man's fear was truly palpable, and for a few seconds, James reveled in it.

A moment later, James was in his face again, pressing him into the wood. The man's chest constricted, and his lungs gasped for air. His arms flailed uselessly, his remaining intact hand trying to push him away. James's hand darted up and gripped the man by the chin, forcing him to meet his gaze. He felt the flinch when the man saw his scarlet irises.

"Vampire," he whispered, enunciating each syllable.

"Know this, Chief Swan, your daughter will be mine. I will drink every last drop of her precious blood. Cullen will not stop me."

The man's eyes rolled back in both pain and fear. With what little force he could muster, he pushed against James's advance. Quickly, however, he realized that he stood no chance. There was nothing he could do.

"Ple-please! Leave her alone. Leave my little girl alone!" he begged. "What have we done to you? Why?"

James sneered and chuckled, "Oh, it's nothing you've done. Let's just say that she had the wrong blood type. You can blame her _boyfriend_ if you'd like."

A second later, his teeth pierced the tender flesh of the man's throat, slicing through skin, tissue, muscle and vein. His luscious and thick, hot blood flowed freely, coating James's tongue and throat. With strong, suctioning pulls, he drained him completely in a matter of minutes.

Satisfied, he tossed the body aside, not bothering to hide the evidence. They'd find him soon enough. And he was so looking forward to the girl's agony.


	22. Unexpected

_**April 16, 2009**_  
_**11:02 pm  
The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington**_

It had been a stressful day, due in part to Alice's and Jasper's continued absence, but more so, the result of the in depth discussion of her… _renovations _that she'd had with Edward. They'd spoken for hours about what the vampire transformation entailed, the fiery death of her human body, the subsequent never-waning bloodlust, and then, most disconcertingly, the insatiable thirst and lack of control that typical newborn vampires exhibited. It was a slow transition, one that required months or even years to move beyond.

At first, Edward would only speak of the pain and suffering, as if he were convinced that she hadn't thought her decision through. But gradually, as she pressed, he shared the more _positive_ aspects of his existence: the senses, the nearly faultless memory, the ability to think multidimensionally. And then, of course, the most appealing aspect of it all: time. More specifically, limitless time with him.

As sheets of almost too-hot water rained down, she felt the taut muscles in her back and shoulders slowly unknot. She hadn't realized it as they'd talked, but all the tension, both Edward's and hers, had built and physically manifested itself as a bone-deep ache in her human body.

Within minutes, a thick, steamy fog settled in the wide, open bathroom; it was so dense and hazy that she could only just make out the creamy marble vanity through the glass shower wall. The air was hot and humid, almost scorching her lungs with each breath, and it smelled pleasantly of the lavender and jasmine bath products Esme had thoughtfully stocked. It was relaxing, a brief respite from the strain of the real world.

She laughed humorlessly at the thought of the _real world_. In such a brief period of time, her concept of real and myth had been turned on its axis, completely flipped and shattered. In some ways, she was still reeling from all that she'd learned over the past several days.

Bella still could not quite understand the overwhelming urge and need to be near him that she felt. But from the moment she witnessed Edward's near death at James's hand, from the moment she heard his vampire spine snap, she could not imagine her life without him. She _would not_ imagine her life without him; it was a far too painful proposition. Her mind recoiled at the mere suggestion.

And one thing was for certain; one human lifetime was simply not enough. She wanted more. She needed more, no matter the cost, even if it meant abandoning her human life and relationships. The only thing that gave her any pause was the knowledge that she would have to leave her father behind, and after so recently losing her mother, contemplating what would be their last conversation sent twinges of hurt and despair through her chest. Either option, losing her father or losing Edward, nearly broke her heart, but as much as she hated to admit the truth, hated the acknowledgment that she would choose anyone over her father, there was no real choice to be made. It would be Edward every time. _That_ she knew with perfect clarity.

_But perhaps in time_, she rationalized, _I might be able to see him again, once I've mastered the bloodlust._

In some ways, she was surprised that Edward had willingly agreed to change her. She had expected some resistance, mostly due to the fact that some part of him considered changing Alice to be tantamount to a death sentence and damnation. Part of him felt as though he had murdered her; he had confided that much only a few hours prior. Bella had vehemently disagreed with him; Edward had saved Alice and granted her life.

But there was considerable dissimilarity between hers and Alice's situations. First and foremost, she was not dying. Of course, she was dying in the general aging sense, but she was not on death's bed. Changing her would be taking her life. Or rather, as Bella saw it, she was choosing to give up her human life for a different kind of life. In her mind, there was a distinction.

Additionally, with downcast eyes and sagging shoulders, he'd admitted that he considered the act of changing her to be the ultimate form of selfishness, something that while he desired it more than anything in the world, he also hated. What he didn't quite grasp was that it was reciprocated selfishness.

Regardless, he'd agreed, and Bella knew that he would not go back or change his mind. She'd seen the feverish light and gleam in his eyes. She'd felt the tremble in his grip. He wanted her just as desperately as she wanted him. Her change was simply a matter of time and situation. And with her father going off his long, double shift the next day, that time and situation would be sooner rather than later.

After a solid forty-five minutes of scouring her tension away, she slowly climbed out of the shower and went through her normal nightly routine. With an amused and slightly embarrassed smile, she glanced down and lightly fingered the set of silky burgundy loungewear set that Rose had left for her.

The clingy and thin fabric certainly wasn't her style, but Rose's support was comforting and appreciated more than Bella would have expected. When they first met, albeit under duress, Bella hadn't been able to read the tall blonde's stance on her and Edward's relationship, and truthfully, Rose had intimidated her. But since Alice left, she'd been a quiet but vocal ally and friend. She treated her liked another family member.

Tightly wrapping a thick towel around her chest, she crept into Edward's room, knowing that he would give her a few minutes alone to dress. Despite his modern existence, in many ways, he remained the man he was in the early 1900's before he had been changed. While their relationship was increasingly more physical, Edward was still very much the gentleman.

After a minute of effort and scrummaging, she managed to locate her target. While Rose's pajamas were incomparably fine, what Bella really wanted was Edward, his scent, his feel, the familiar comfort of _him_ wrapped around her. _This will do_, she hummed, as she found a thin, dark t-shirt and a pair of his boxer shorts.

As she turned down the bed, layer by layer, a muffled choking sound came from the entryway, startling her. Her voice caught in her throat, as she whipped around, clutching her palm to her chest.

"Edward," she exhaled. "God, you scared me."

Hastily, he murmured a soft apology and self-consciously glanced down to the floor. She noted his fists were balled tightly, and even with his head ducked down, she could tell that his brows were pulled together in discomfort.

"Are you okay?" Bella asked quietly.

He quickly glanced up at her query, and his eyes widened as he took in her appearance. They warmed and then suddenly burned into hers with an intensity she hadn't seen before. He anxiously gnawed his bottom lip, and his jaw flexed minutely, as if he were struggling with some important decision. Beneath the starched white cotton of his shirt, she could see his chest rising and falling, speeding in pace.

He was stunning standing there in the open doorway, his balled-up fists pressed against either side of the wooden frame. Even in the soft lamplight, he looked like a perfectly sculpted Grecian marble statue: hard, angular, and with flawless pale-white planes. Unable to look away, her breathing picked up in time, and heat pulsed through her limbs, toes to fingers.

His brows creased, his eyes narrowed, and then, he took a deep breath. Saying nothing, he strode across the space between them, stopping just short of her. His scent, that soothing balm she'd been looking for in his dresser drawers, washed over her and filled her lungs. His eyes bored into hers, freezing her in place.

"I like seeing you in my clothes," Edward breathed. "Very much."

The sound of his voice, low and almost hoarse, speaking a very humanly male sentiment, sent stinging pangs through her midsection.

A long, slender finger reached across the space between them and glided down the column of her throat to the ribbed neckline of his shirt. Darting underneath, he lightly traced her collarbones. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, but not from the chill of his skin. Without thinking, Bella launched herself across the inches separating them.

She heard his strangled groan of surprise, but at that moment, all she could think about was touching him and feeling his body against hers.

She wasn't quite sure what had changed, but something had. Whether it was her decision and pending transformation or something else altogether, something had definitely shifted, charging the air around them.

He kissed her with less restraint than normal. His cool lips were needy and urgent, and he pawed at her with a mutual fervor. In less than a second, faster than her human mind could process, they were settled across the bed, him hovering over her, cautiously holding himself up so as not to harm her.

Hesitantly, allowing him ample time to object, she deftly unhooked the buttons of his shirt. As she pushed the fabric back across his shoulders, he pulled back an inch and eyed her speculatively. His features shifted between a sudden rigid tension to determination, and then finally, to unmasked desire. This was an Edward she hadn't quite seen before, and it was… _arousing_.

She kissed the tops of his bare shoulders. A rolling shudder undulated down his frame, and she heard his breathing stutter.

"Is this too much?" she asked softly against his skin.

"No, it's fine. It's more than fine," he murmured. "Just slowly."

She eyed him in understanding as he pulled her shirt over her head.

For the next hour, they explored one another, saying nothing at all. Slowly, just as he had requested, garments were shed. With an almost reverence, his lips touched every inch of her body, and hers did the same. She felt as though he were memorizing her, cataloging each sigh, each gasp, and each soft moan. Greedily, she thumbed along the dips and curves of his chiseled chest and abdomen, reveling in his perfect symmetry. Each time her nails trailed through the patch of hair below his navel, his eyes snapped shut and a low whimper escaped his lips.

For the first time, she could see all of him. And she could _feel_ all of him. Her own body felt hot, overheated; she felt like she was drunk from the dizzying reactions her body had to his touch. It was sensory overload – the sweet scent of his skin, his cool breath ghosting across her pebbling flesh, the light press of his wet tongue along her stomach, the look of pure adoration in his eyes. She wanted to drown in him.

"Bella, I'm not sure… if I can," he said quietly, looking up at her. "I'm terrified of hurting you."

"You won't, Edward," she answered. "Slowly, remember?"

Gently, as if he were handling a fragile doll, he crawled up her body and claimed her mouth again.

"Please, Edward," she whispered against his lips, as her fingers wound themselves in his already tangled hair.

Almost as if in pain, his features and muscles tensed, and then released. Wordlessly, he aligned their bodies, pressing ever so slightly into her. Again, his jaw tightened, and his eyes clenched shut. A hissing breath sucked through his lips.

"You must tell me if I hurt you. At any time. Promise me," he exhaled, his voice breathy and strained.

"You won't," Bella repeated, lifting her hips.

When he entered her, time seemed to shimmer and warp. After a moment's pause for acclimation, they began a slow, steady rhythm. As he moved inside of her, the sheer marvel in his eyes nearly stole her breath away. His lips were parted in a small, surprised 'O', and the pleasure evident in his expression was simply astounding. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Over and over, their bodies met, as breathless pants and muffled moans echoed in the room. With each gentle thrust, she felt herself slowly coming undone. Sharp tingles shot through her thighs, building until she could only call out his name and claw his back. Everything but the sensation of him filling her faded into the background. After several long minutes, she could no longer hold back, and her body shook with relief, contracting and constricting around him. He cried out in response, burying his face in her neck, and after but a moment more, he reached his own release.

Minutes later, lying across his chest, their limbs tangled and slick with the sheen of her sweat, she sighed. "I love you, Edward. So very much."

Her eyes slid shut, close to sleep, as she felt his fingers gently pulling out the knots in her hair. The arm holding her tightened, and cool fingertips glided across her bare waist. He kissed the top of her head, and she heard him inhale. "You compare one small tree… Sleep, my love."

* * *

_**April 17, 2009**_  
_**6:28 am**_  
_**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington**_

With the rising sun, the room slowly lightened. Patiently waiting for her to rise, he watched as shadows danced and retreated across the rumpled bedspread. With a smile, he guessed that she would be asleep for at least a few more hours.

The house was quiet; the only sounds came from the small girl curled up beside him. Gratefully, his family had departed to hunt in the night, allowing them some modicum of privacy, something impossible in a vampire household.

Her perfume, heady and thick, filled his lungs. It coated everything in the room;_ he_ smelled like her. While he no longer wanted to drink her, the smell of Bella on his body was tantalizing yet at the same time comforting.

A deep, filling satisfaction thrummed through his body. Countless times had he witnessed acts of intimacy through others' minds. But never, _ever_, in his hundred plus years had he experienced the kind of unrivaled pleasure that he felt when he'd heard her cry out his name and felt her body tighten around his. It was the kind of pleasure that was so acute, it was akin to pain. The emotional and physical connection that they'd shared was startling in its strength and was completely unexpected. It was almost too much to bear, but Edward wanted to relive that moment time and time again.

Seeing Bella clothed in his garments was what initiated everything, what pushed him to touch her in ways he'd not done before. Never had he felt so much like a human man. He could not explain his reaction; it was unfathomable and unforeseen, but it was visceral and strong. The feeling was possessive almost; she was _his_.

But what shook and shattered his resolve was her quiet plea. There had been no possibility of denying her then. And truth be told, he had not wanted to. Not once, not for one second, had he lost sight of the overwhelming love and adulation he felt for her. It was that all encompassing love which allowed him the control necessary to physically express his emotions and wants.

Being able to give her that kind of love, that kind of pleasure and union, was startling in its impact. Lying there with her, feeling her hot, silken skin draped across his, all he could think about was making love to her once more.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, and her hair tickled his face. But she was so peaceful; he could lie there with her for hours just watching her breathe, just watching the infinitesimal shifts in her expression. Lips parted and slightly turned upward, she looked almost otherworldly with her near-vampire pale skin and dark hair. Her heart beat steady and strong, echoing through his chest and arms and back. Content in a way he'd never known, he counted its beats, relishing each one.

She had made her decision; she had chosen him. Desperately, he had tried to honest with her, making sure she understood exactly to what she was accepting. The idea of her regret was a pain that he could not bear. It was horrid enough that he would essentially kill her in order to keep her.

He'd told her about the excruciating agony of the three-day transformation, how her body would burn at the pyre until she was nothing but ash. He described the never-ending thirst, the struggle with bloodlust, the scorching burn in his throat that never fully was satisfied. She listened in rapt attention and pressed him for more. Regardless, to his delight and simultaneously, to his anguish, she simply told him that all she wanted was him. And there was nothing more to say.

As she slept, he lightly stroked her skin and considered their best path forward. James would have to be dealt with, and he was unsure how best to handle Bella's change. In some ways, changing her immediately, which she wanted, would stopcock James's primary weapon – her human death. Yet, without Alice and Jasper, especially Jasper, their numbers were low enough that he worried about her vulnerability during the three days she would be unconscious. James could easily strike them then. _But_, he thought, _that's really not that different a scenario as leaving her human. _No matter what, until she was a fully changed and conscious vampire, she was far more vulnerable than with which he was comfortable.

After she'd made her choice clear, they'd concocted a plan for her father's sake. It'd been an emotional discussion for her and almost as much so for Edward. He felt guilty for her giving up so much for him. But he'd maintained his silence in the matter, respecting her wishes, and he vowed to make her transition as easy as possible.

They would visit her father in the evening, and she would explain that she wanted to tour the University of Washington campus over the weekend. Her father would probably be elated to have her off the Peninsula. She would say her goodbye, and then, there would simply be an 'accident' in Seattle. It wasn't the best plan, but Edward understood her desire to give him closure rather than abruptly vanishing. Causing her father the agony of years of not knowing was unacceptable.

Careful not to wake her, he pressed his lips to her forehead, dreading her painful goodbye.

* * *

_**April 17, 2009**_  
_**4:02 pm**_  
_**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington**_

Hours later, mid afternoon, he sat in the family room quietly discussing their plan of action. He'd reluctantly left Bella upstairs in his bedroom, curled up in the oversized side chair by the window, reading one of his thick volumes of nineteenth century poetry. She needed a break, a brief moment to prepare for her goodbye. And too, she wanted a distraction. He suppressed a relieved sigh as he listened to her breathing and heart beat slow; she was falling asleep. And for that he was grateful. The fewer hours she had to worry, the better.

"Why can't we just go after him?" Emmett grumbled. "He's around here somewhere. I'm sure we can find him."

Emmett's thoughts perfectly followed his words. Sitting idly by, waiting for the inevitable, was not his preference. He wanted a crack at James himself; he'd taken personal offense at Edward's attack. He'd taken it as an assault on his family and that was intolerable and inexcusable.

Carlisle's brows knitted in discomfort, warring between agreement and abhorrence. He couldn't imagine actually killing another creature, human or vampire, yet he felt the urgency and risk of not responding.

_Will he give up, Edward? Once Bella has been changed_? he asked silently.

Edward's expression hardened and his fingers gripped the cushioned arms of the wingback. He glanced over to Carlisle's still form, and sharply shook his head.

"No, Carlisle," he answered. "James will never give up. I've learned that now. He will not stop, no matter what happens to Bella. Or me."

His voice roughened as he spoke his last words. Edward realized from their last encounter, that were James to defeat and destroy him, he would go back for Edward's family. James's revenge and wrath had no end. He would punish anyone and everyone that meant anything to Edward.

"See. We need to take him down, Carlisle. It's too risky just letting him roam around. And too, he's killing people, people in Forks. We can't just let that go on," Emmett growled.

Edward watched his brother through weary eyes. Emmett was angry, disgusted by James and for what he stood. But more so, Edward could hear the tenor of fear trickling through his thoughts, not for himself, but his family. He knew that there were three of them, each seasoned and violent, and that was more than enough to cause damage to the family were they to clash. Images of Rosalie flickered across his consciousness.

_I get it, Edward. I know why you left each time_, he admitted.

"Can we leave and lure them away from town? At least everyone else would be safe. We could go North, somewhere where no one else would be in danger," Esme asked quietly, anxiously clasping and unclasping her hands.

Carlisle arm stole around her shoulders, pulling her tightly against his side. "That's a good idea, Edward. We need to leave Forks as quickly as we can. We need to try to protect the people here," he agreed.

"Alice and Jasper can find us when they are ready," Rosalie murmured, pointedly glancing at Edward.

_Edward, this way we get them away from her dad, as well, _she added mutely.

Edward's eyes widened in understanding. Nodding slowly, he said, "We'll leave tonight then, after we get back from Forks. We'll go up toward Great Bear Lake. We'll need to be away from civilization anyway."

The room fell into silence, each family member mentally checking off tasks that needed to be done to prepare. They could leave most of their belongings; those could always be fetched later. And they had moved on short notice before, years ago when some human had come to close to discovering their truths. This would not be the last time.

Suddenly, a distant but screeching mental voice broke Edward's train of thought.

_Edward! Find everyone! Now!_ Alice shrieked.

He immediately started and bolted up from his chair. Frantically, he searched, trying to determine from where she was coming. Just barely, he could hear their approach. She and Jasper were racing through the forest, no more than two miles away. They made no effort to conceal their flight.

The sheer panic that colored her thoughts terrified him.

He looked around and noted that everyone else had risen, following his reaction. Their faces were all masks of concern and fright, not understanding.

"Alice. Jasper. They're coming. Something has happened," he stated as evenly as he could manage.

In less than three minutes, they were all, Alice and Jasper included, standing in the middle of the living area. Their expressions warded off any attempt at greeting or questioning.

"Edward," she exhaled shakily, wasting no time. "It's Bella's father."

The moment she spoke, her mind cleared, and Edward could see why they'd been racing at such speed. He saw what they had found in the wilderness. The image was vivid and in perfect clarity.

_The glint of a semi-automatic against the dark forest floor. A dark green uniform coated with blood and debris. A human body twisted and bent at unnatural angles, lying in a heap at the base of a virgin pine. Chief Swan's face, bloated and splattered with dried droplets of blood, frozen in an expression of agony. _

"No," he panted. "Not that way."

His body swayed as he replayed the scene again. He barely felt the sturdy hand and arm holding him upright. A wave of calm flooded the room, permitting some measure of lucidity.

"Where?"

Jasper softly replied, "We found him near Kalakoch. We were on our way back home and caught a vampire's scent. He was killed yesterday, maybe the day before at most.

"I'm sorry, Edward."

No one moved, no one knowing what to say or do. Their thoughts were scattered and bereaved.

But one single thought was clearly articulated by everyone in the room_, We should have known. One of us should have been following him. _Carlisle was the loudest.

Esme's stifled sob broke the silence, "You have to tell her, Edward."

He glanced up, meeting her pained gaze. "I know," he whispered.

He'd been so absorbed in Alice's vision and his own dizzying thoughts that he didn't even notice that Bella had woken. As she padded down the steps, each family member turned to her direction, each thought swiftly focused. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rosalie clutch Emmett's hand and thumb the slender band of gold around his finger.

His stomach sank in dread, and he swallowed thickly.

_This will break her_, he thought miserably. _And I will torture him for this. He will die painfully._

"Alice!" Bella smiled warmly, as she rounded the corner. "Jasp-,"

As she processed their stony faces and postures, her words caught in her throat, and her eyes widened. She stopped in her tracks and stared at them.

"What is it? What happened?" Bella asked flatly, gazing directly into his eyes.

_Do you want me to help, Edward?_ Jasper asked.

"Please," he mouthed.

Heavy blankets of calm suddenly rolled across him; it was almost suffocating, even for him. He was surprised that she could stand upright under its weight.

Eyes not leaving him, she quickly crossed the room, stopping two feet in front of him. Her heart pounded wildly, and he could smell the scent of fear spiking her normal perfume.

"Edward. What. Happened?" she demanded, the blood draining from her cheeks, leaving her too pale. A sheen clammy sweat dotted her brow.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he breathed, as another wave of calm crashed over them.

He reached out to pull her to his chest, but she retreated. "Tell me. Please, Edward," she choked. Her dark eyes welled with unshed tears.

"Yo-, your father," he said softly. "He-, I'm sorry. Bella, I'm so sorry."

A single tear streaked down her face, dotting his dark t-shirt. For a moment, he didn't know if she heard him for she said nothing. She merely looked him numbly.

"No," she yelled angrily.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" she wailed, furiously shaking her head in disbelief before finally stilling.

He willed himself to meet her expression, and he called to her, "Bella?"

He watched in horror as she slowly gazed around the room, eyes drifting from object to object, her expression slack and dazed. Her anger had vanished and was replaced with an eerie calm, not what Jasper had intended. It was almost as if she'd momentarily lost her sense of reality, as if she were seeing something other than their pale living area. Without her mental context, he was completely at a loss, not knowing what to do.

"Bella?" he said again.

This time her eyes snapped back to his. She sucked in ragged breaths as the hard, wrenching sobs began to build in her chest. Her small frame shuddered and keeled back and forth. He could _feel _the agony and empty desolation mount. Jasper staggered beneath its fury, and it bled out from him and into Edward.

He watched as she… _broke._

Abruptly, her knees buckled, and she sank.

But he was there to catch her. Immediately, he dropped to the floor and pulled her into his lap. His arms formed a tight cage around her body, holding her as closely to his chest as he could manage. Carefully, he tucked her head underneath his chin and slowly rocked back and forth.

For what could only be described as an eternity, he held her shaking body, absorbing all of her tears and thrashing blows. Her fingers grappled and clawed at his shirt, simultaneously pulling him closer and pushing him away. Over and over, she chanted, "No."

When he thought she'd calmed, her sobs began anew. Only this time, Bella wept, "I never got to say goodbye." Her voice climbed in volume, and her breathing approached hyperventilation.

All he could do was hold her and hope that somehow that eased her pain. There was nothing he could say to her to make things right; there was nothing he could do.

Her agony pierced him like nothing else, stripping him down, flaying him alive. Her pain was his, and he would have given anything in that moment to make it stop. Edward wished that he had never been changed, that he'd never left Carlisle, that he'd never met her. Were it not for him, she would be happy.

He never looked up, but he knew that his family remained, silently watching and standing vigil, offering the only kind of solace and support they could: constancy.

Sometime later, as the sun was beginning to sink, her tears dried out, and her grip faltered. She was weak and shaky, still sucking in stuttering breaths. She was exhausted, barely conscious. Swollen and red from hours of grief, her expression was flat and numb, as if she could no longer feel.

"Edward?" she whispered. Her voice was raw and gravelly.

"Yes?" he murmured into her hair.

"Will you do something for me?" she continued, her voice firming.

He swallowed back a thick, uncomfortable lump, and his arms flexed around her. "Anything you need, anything you ask," he replied.

"Kill him," she grated with a rage that he had not thought possible from her. "Make him suffer for me."


	23. Departure

_**April 18, 2009  
9:13 pm  
Vacant garage, Port Angeles, Washington**_

The clacking of nearby railcars vibrated through the empty space, rattling the windows and wide bay doors. The muffled rumble of shifting logs mingled with the thrumming diesel engine. To humans, it was merely the rumble of the 9:13. To a vampire, it was a world of sounds, each perfectly distinct and loud.

The thick stink of burned motor oil, antifreeze, and the metallic tinge of turned metal tainted the air and coated his tongue. In contrast to the human odors, other scents, sweet and pleasant, swirled around them: sandalwood, mint and basil, fresh cut oak, cherry blossoms, and then the fresh smell of jasmine and citrus, the latter of which was faint enough that it was only detectable in close proximity.

"James," Victoria called, breaking his distraction. "You wanted us, husband?"

His head whipped around, his eyes taking in the room and its new inhabitants. The space was dim and shadowy, lit only by the orange glow of the street lamp outside streaming in through the dust-caked windows. Stacks of old, bald and stripped tires lined the far wall, and pried-open tool cabinets and drawers revealed empty shelves, having long since been looted. What remained of a dismantled hydraulic lift projected out from the center of the greasy concrete floor.

His gaze fell upon his coven members, all waiting noiselessly for him to respond. They were all wary of him, Victoria being the only one bold enough to approach him. But then, she could get away with far more than the others. Beyond their mated connection, he needed both her and her special skills. And she knew it.

Her easy stance exuded confidence, both in him and in herself, and the thrill of their upcoming fight shone in her ruby eyes. She loved the chase and violence almost as much as he did, and the prospect of a large, coven-on-coven battle was tantalizing. She'd already picked her intended victim. No doubt theirs would be a well-matched encounter.

Laurent, ever cool, lounged against a wide steel center support. While outwardly at ease, James knew he had his doubts of their advantage. _Coward, _James spat in annoyance. He'd dared to contest James's decision once, but since, he had been smart enough to maintain his silence. Regardless, he was of no worry; Laurent would follow his orders. He feared James too much to do otherwise, despite his erroneous opinions.

James eyed the two additions with unspoken caution. They were new members to his coven, having joined less than a year prior. They were young vampires, neither no more than a decade in age, and as such, they were inexperienced and rash. To their credit, they had both learned the basic fighting moves quickly, watching and training under Laurent's tutelage. But they were jittery and anxious; James questioned if they would really be much use in a real battle. They could be sacrificed if needed. Replacements were so easy to find.

"Tomorrow, at dusk, we're going to pay another visit to the Cullens'," James explained. "But this time, I _want _them to notice us."

"All of us?" the one called Riley asked incredulously. "We're going to fight them there?"

The others' eyes widened in disbelief, and the hiss of Victoria's disapproval cut through the sudden, tense silence.

The boy was an irritation, always questioning and never listening. He suffered from his human generation's plight: over-confidence and self-importance. And James was not in the mood for his infernal querying, nor his borderline insubordination. Despite his occasional usefulness, James debated whether the annoyance was worth the trouble. With a cock of his head, he briefly considered destroying him then and there.

Without warning and in a dizzying blur, James's hand darted across the distance between them and wrapped around the boy's throat. With a certain delight, his fingers curled and squeezed, instantly choking the young vampire's breath. James lifted him up, and in two strides, slammed his back against a nearby cinderblock wall and pinned him there. The boy's matted brown hair whipped and slapped from the sudden motion. Masonry dust and debris rained down, tinkling and skittering across the concrete floor.

No one made move to stop him, each understanding that to do so would be a fatal error. The boy's palms pushed desperately against James's chest, trying to free himself from the iron grip. James's fingers curled tighter, pressing dangerously into his vampire flesh. Crackling pops rang out, echoing in the emptiness.

"My dear Riley, did you have a question?" James purred in a low, seductive voice, his face mere inches from the boy's. Orange light glinted off the venom sheen on his teeth.

Stuttered puffs of cool, mint-scented breath smacked against James's face. He noted that he could even smell the tangy remnants of the boy's last feed, the pleasant scent of young female, a teenager perhaps. She had a similar aroma to that Quileute boy Victoria had taken.

He watched in satisfaction as Riley's eyes rolled around, searching for aid from his other coven members. He only just contained a laugh. _So foolish_, he chuckled soundlessly.

He crooned, "Don't look to them for assistance, boy. They won't help you. They aren't fools. Now, did you have a question or not?"

Raspy and shaking, he spluttered, "No, James. Nothing at all."

Abruptly, James released the boy and smiled. Riley's knees buckled and he faltered back into the wall, clutching his throat. With approval, James noted that the boy's mate, a wild looking girl with a shock of spiky dark hair and claret colored lips, had remained silent and unmoving throughout their exchange. The girl – Bree – showed promise. She was young and vicious, but she wasn't stupid. More importantly, she understood when her opinion was needed and when it was not. The boy would do well to pay attention.

"Excellent. Now as I was trying to explain before Riley decided to interrupt," he said evenly, casting a piercing glare at the boy, still crouched against the wall. "Victoria, you will come with me, my pet. I will need your speed and more so, your most useful gifts."

He noted that as he spoke, his mate's smile widened into a wicked grin and her chest jutted out as her posture straightened with her apparent pride and delight. For a fleeting moment, his gaze raked down, and he allowed himself to appreciate her form. She was a stunning specimen, slender yet curvaceous, with flawless and symmetrical pale features framed by riotous, fiery red curls. In the low light, her vibrant scarlet eyes were alight with dangerous anticipation, and she was truly striking. Her brutal tendencies only made her that much more alluring. And of course, the talents that had manifested after her transformation made her the ideal companion and coven member. Changing her was a most fortuitous decision.

"Of course," she replied, the pleasure evident in her voice.

"There is a wide, flat clearing north of the Cullens', not far from the base of Ellis Mountain. The rest of you will wait there. We will bring them to you. They will not be anticipating our numbers," he explained.

"Will they follow, James?" Laurent asked calmly, careful to not inflect the same impertinence the boy had failed to contain.

"Oh, I think so, Laurent. Hence why I must go. Cullen will not be able to resist coming after me. And his _family_ will follow."

The others waited quietly and unspeaking, quickly understanding that he'd planned this in detail. This would be more than a simple battle of vampires. There was something else afoot, something that James was not sharing for unclear reasons.

He glanced out through the dirtied window, contemplating the moves he would be setting in motion. Cullen would follow; he would have no choice.

"Once they are in the clearing," he continued in a deathly calm and even tone. "I have other plans. You will keep them all busy and destroy as many as you can."

* * *

_**April 18, 2009  
3:27 pm  
Olympic Peninsula Region – Forks, Washington**_

For the second time in a month, she passed through the sterile halls of the local hospital. And for the second time in a month, she was there because she had lost someone. Just weeks prior, while she'd been delirious and almost unconscious, she had been literally carried by Edward through the Emergency Room doors and down these very same halls. Just weeks prior, her friend Jacob had been murdered in order to torment her, and thus, to torture Edward.

More poignantly, for the second time in less than six months, she was making her way down nondescript, featureless white halls, filled with the stinging scents of alcohol, stale vomit, and cleaning solutions, en route to the one place she had never wanted to go again. She did not want to see him, to see his altered and still features. She did not want to see another parent dead and lying on a stainless steel table. But she had to; this was all she had left.

Bella noted that despite the similar and almost familiar surroundings, this experience was different from when she'd been escorted to the hospital in Phoenix to identify her mother. Then, she'd barely been coherent, barely understood the words that were spoken to her. Her mother's death had been accompanied by almost immediate incapacitating shock and desolation, the emptiness associated with the loss of a best friend, a confidante, a part of her.

While similar - the matching despair and sorrow were certainly there - there was also something else. Losing her father to the same monster that she now knew had stolen her mother sparked a level of anger and hatred she'd never known to exist. There was a jagged, bleeding hole in her chest, another piece of her that had been ripped out without warning or caution. James had torn her life apart without even touching her and had destroyed those she loved. And he wasn't done; he wanted Edward, the one person she had left in this world. She had meant it when she told Edward that she wanted James to suffer. _That_ she wanted with true and pure conviction.

Edward's cool fingers threaded through hers, offering her silent comfort and ease. Since he had told her about her father the previous evening, he'd been a constant fixture by her side, unwilling to leave but for the most human of interludes. All through the night, she had cried all the tears she had into his shirt, she had pummeled his chest with her fists in rage and anguish, and then, she'd finally fallen asleep draped across his hard, cold stomach. He'd quietly taken everything she had, only responding to her cries with tightening arms and comforting whispers. He offered her calm and reassuring faithfulness and solace, allowing her to grieve in her own time and way. Even in her sleep, she felt him there, could hear his soft, soothing humming, could feel his fingertips gently stroking her back.

When Bella had woken, they had lain together for hours more, Edward's arms still wrapped securely around her shoulders. She told him stories of when she was a child, of the few long-buried memories she had of her father. She told him of her father's almost comical deficiencies in the kitchen, but near gourmet expertise over an open fire. She told him how he used to fish nearly every weekend. With a bittersweet smile, she'd told him how her father had once said that he never felt truly at ease but for when he was sitting in an old dinghy on an empty lake or standing thigh deep in a rushing stream.

_Why?_ she asked for the hundredth time. _Why him? We were going to leave anyway! Why did he have to die? _

"Bella?" Edward whispered, as they stepped into a dated elevator. "You don't have to do this. Carlisle can handle this for you. He won't be… like you remember." He winced when he choked out those last words.

Exhausted, she leaned back against the old oaken wall panels and looked into the warped mirror on the far wall. She tilted her head and watched her lips as they replied, "No, Edward. I need to see him. This is the only goodbye I have left."

His reflection stared back her, his eyes pained and tight. His too-perfect lips pressed together into a narrow line, but he didn't argue. He simply nodded in acquiescence and thumbed the back of her hand.

The ride down took longer than she'd imagined. It seemed unreal, or surreal even. She watched as her expression altered and shifted, growing more alarmed and tense as they approached their destination. Punctuating the quiet, she could hear the metallic groans of the old chains and pulleys. The only other sound was that of her own blood rushing and pinging in her ears. With each passing second, it felt as though her lungs had to work harder, that oxygen just wouldn't filter through, and the thick knot in her chest ballooned.

Somehow, like always, Edward seemed completely in tune with her mounting disquiet, as if he knew that she was close to falling apart inside. Without warning, he suddenly pulled her to his chest, enveloping her in a secure embrace.

"Please, then let me go in there with you?" he murmured into her hair. His palm gently cupped the back of her head, and his fingers threaded into her hair. "You do not have to do this alone, Bella. Please, let me be with you."

She inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the cool, clean scent coming off his skin. When she was close to him like this, it felt like she could breathe, like her body was whole. And briefly, she could forget where she was and why she was there.

"Thank you. I'd like that," she finally breathed, nodding into the crisp cotton of his button-up.

No more than five minutes later, she stood in a small room with no windows in front of a wide metal table, staring down at her father's still form. The medical examiner had thankfully cleaned his body and removed his soiled uniform, but he hadn't been able to hide her father's wounds. Deep, burgundy-black gashes covered his throat and upper torso, and one of his wrists and hands looked to have been crushed. The skin on his arms and face was mottled with dark purple and yellow bruising.

"Did he suffer?" Bella asked quietly, cinching her arm around Edward's waist and cringing into his side. "Did he die quickly?"

Edward stiffened at her query, and she felt his fingers press into the muscle of her upper arm. He replied carefully, as if he were weighing just how much to say. "I don't know for certain, Bella. But your father fought James, I can tell that from his… _wounds_. He didn't go willingly.

"But I don't think his death was… _drawn out_, if that is what you mean. I think James killed him swiftly."

Strangely, that knowledge did comfort her. It didn't make things right, but it lessened the ache. The thought of her father suffering was intolerable.

He seemed smaller than she recalled. Lying on that table, surrounded by harsh white-violet light and white walls, he seemed older and frailer. She noticed the few gray hairs in his mustache and the ash at his temples. Memories of her childhood bubbled up in her mind; he'd always seemed so large and strong, invincible even. Even as an adult, after years apart, when she'd come to Forks, broken from her mother's death, he'd become a strong and steady fixture in her life. What she saw on the table was just… _wrong_.

Tentatively, she reached out and touched his hand, lightly stroking his cold and rigid flesh.

"Dad, I'm sorry. We never said goodbye. And I wanted to say so many things to you," she whispered, as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I love you, Daddy. And I miss you. I _will_ miss you forever. So much."

* * *

_**April 19, 2009**_  
_**7:03 pm**_  
_**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington **_

A small stack of black, heavy denier luggage sat in the foyer. In them was contained all that she'd wanted to carry with her: a thick picture album, a few pieces of jewelry and mementos that had belonged to her mother and father, a handful of books, and then, a smattering of clothing.

She wasn't sure what had occurred or how it had been managed, but Edward and Jasper had already arranged everything for the oversight and supervision of her father's estate, at least until she was ready to deal with all that that entailed. When she asked, Edward had simply shrugged and said a man named Jenks, apparently an associate of the family, would take care of everything.

Thankfully, word had spread quickly through town that she was under the care of the Cullens. With his faultless reputation and respect amongst the community, Carlisle's quiet assurances and explanations kept her from having to deal with visitors and the inevitable questions and calls.

In many ways, she was grateful that her father's will had dictated that he was to be cremated and that there be no fanfare or funeral. Earlier that day, there had been an impromptu, simple memorial of sorts, held in the local Baptist fellowship hall. A sparse grouping of his closest friends gathered and reminisced, each saying his own farewell. His friends, mostly Quileute elders, were kind and soft-spoken. Billy Black, haggard and worn, still devastated by Jacob's death, sat in silence, offering her sad half-smiles. She had merely looked on, listening to their stories, committing them to memory.

By normal standards, especially for a person of prominence in the community, it was too soon, too short, and involved too few people. But because the _murderer_ was still loose and active, there was little room or time for standard decorum in any sense, even for funerals or memorial services. But their short gathering granted closure; her father's friends deserved that much. And it was easier that way, keeping it so small; Bella didn't think she would have been able to bear looking into too many prying and sympathetic eyes knowing the truth. Besides, she'd already said the only things she knew or wanted to say back in the hospital.

"We're leaving tonight?" she asked as she entered the room. She knew that they had to leave Forks, but up until now, it had been just a point in the near future. Seeing the suitcases ready to go and the Cullens bustling around at near impossible speed brought it all to the present.

Jasper was seated near the hearth, rapidly typing into a thin, modern laptop computer with Alice standing behind, quietly watching and twirling her fingers in his hair. By the wide, arched side entry stood Rosalie and Emmett, having just entered the room from the Cullens' massive garage. Gray grease smudges stained their hands. In the back seating area, Esme was neatly covering the furniture with cream-colored dust covers.

As Bella spoke, each set of ocher eyes turned to her direction, each family member immediately stopping what they were doing, pausing mid-motion. For a moment, none responded, unsure of how to answer.

"Yes, dear," Esme answered quietly. "It's for the best. We need to…"

"Lure him away," Bella finished in an even, almost flat tone.

Esme rushed over and grasped her around the shoulders, pulling her close. In a gentle, soothing, almost motherly voice, she sighed, "I'm so terribly sorry, Bella. This is all too much for you, I know it is. But we must."

Over Esme's shoulder she could see the pained expressions on the other Cullens' faces. Their sincerity was real, as if they all felt at least some portion of her mourning. As she processed their evident emotions, oddly gentle, rolling waves of calm began lapping at her anxiety.

_Jasper_, she thought, realizing the source of her abrupt ease. _Thank you._ She glanced back over to him with a small, grateful smile. He said nothing, only dipping his head in acknowledgement.

Pulling away from Esme's embrace, Bella shook her head. Leaving was for the best, she knew that. And if she were being honest, it was best for her individually, too. Being away from town, where her father's memories were stamped on every street, would allow her some measure of relief.

Edward's feather-light palm pressed against her lower back, a gentle response to her movement. Softly, she said, "No, you're right. We have to get him away from here. I don't want anyone else dying. I just can't stand that. No one else should die.

"And we'd, or at least Edward and I, would have to leave… anyway. For _me."_

"You mean _we'd_ have to leave, little sister," Emmett corrected gently, startling her despite his low volume.

Lightly, almost laughing, he continued, "No way am I missing your first hunt. I'm going to teach you to take down a bear. No deer or _mountain lions_ for you."

She heard Edward's sharp inhale behind her, but his reaction was interrupted when Rosalie suddenly exclaimed angrily, "Emmett!" While she didn't see Rose's movement, Bella noted that in the next second, Emmett had shifted to the left, just out of his mate's reach.

For the first time in days, Bella laughed in genuine amusement, both at Emmett's jab at Edward and at Rose's attack. She was grateful for Emmett's levity. He wasn't being crass or inappropriate or insensitive; he was providing a distraction for her, one that she desperately needed. She wanted to hug him for it.

"Okay, fine. Bears it is," she managed through a fit of giggles. For a brief minute, they all joined in, allowing a moment of light-hearted humor. Hearing Edward's velvety voice lightly laughing was the most comforting thing she'd heard all day.

After a few more careless moments, Carlisle asked, "We'll be ready in a few minutes, Bella. Is there anything else you'd like to take with you?

"We can always come back later, but if there is anything else that you need or want, we can take it now."

Bella replied softly, "No, I have everything. The sooner we leave, the better. Where are we going exactly?"

Edward padded around to face her, still maintaining contact. Just as he was opening his mouth to speak, his features suddenly twisted and his eyes widened in alarm. His nostrils flared, and his body went absolutely stone still.

Terror instantly assaulted her, running her blood cold. Her heart rate doubled in time as she grappled and clutched Edward's taut forearms, fearing that her knees would give. Without thinking, her lungs held the breath they had just taken. She recognized that expression: it was the same one she'd seen when James had appeared at the store.

Edward frantically looked to Alice and murmured something so low and fast she could not discern it. Panicked, Bella glanced around. They all wore the same mask of fear, each staring back and forth between Edward and Alice.

"What is it?" Carlisle asked calmly.

Neither responded, both seemingly frozen in place. But Bella quickly comprehended; Alice was seeing something and Edward was reading it directly from her.

"Alice?" Carlisle asked again, his voice slightly elevated in volume.

"How long?" Edward breathed, tightening his hold around Bella's waist.

_How long?_ Bella repeated, as her stomach rolled. _James. _

"Damn it!" Edward roared, releasing her abruptly. He paced a frenetic path, his motions too swift for her to follow. He wasn't entirely coherent; she could hear indiscernible, angry mumblings and low growls in his throat.

"Edward!" Bella snapped. "What is going on?"

His pacing stopped and he turned to her. His features shifted into an expression she could only describe as a mix of fury and determination. His brows were sharply creased and his eyes were piercing in their intensity. Slowly, his gaze swept from her to Carlisle to Emmett to Jasper.

"James. He's no more than five minutes away. And he isn't alone."


	24. Ultimatum

_**April 19, 2009  
7:34 pm**_  
_**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington **_

The vision was clear and vivid, pulled directly from Alice's mind. For a brief moment, he was surprised and distracted by the warning; this was the first time they'd had any time to react. Of course, they didn't have a lot of time, but at least it was something, at least they could form some plan of action.

But there something amiss; something about the whole scenario seemed… _off_.

Edward stared directly at Alice. Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused and lost in her vision. Her tiny fists were balled tightly around the hem of her dark blouse and her teeth gritted, evidence of her concentration. She understood what was at stake, and she knew that they needed her. He knew that she was frustrated that she hadn't seen more.

Ignoring everyone else in the room, frozen in place, Edward focused intently on the feed streaming from Alice, looking for any loopholes or signs of evasion. But all he could see was that James would arrive within minutes, five at the most.

The forest outside the house was slowly darkening. A pale amethyst glow, light from the low setting sun behind the clouds, flowed between the thick line of tree trunks, illuminating their impending path. Where the air stirred, graying shadows danced and flickered across the swaying tree limbs. With every step they took, fallen leaves and rotting debris covering the forest floor kicked up and sprayed behind them in a cloud of earthen dust.

James wore an expression Edward recognized far too well; his features were twisted into a look of angry arrogance and derision. His ruby eyes, bright and vibrant from his recent carnage, gleamed with morbid excitement. Running alongside, his fire-haired mate, Victoria, feeding off his confidence, matched his expression with one of almost elation, as though she were being granted the gift of play. She wanted a fight; she wanted to destroy. In many ways, she was more dangerous than James.

He could see them approaching the house from the West, directly in the path of the prevailing winds. With the constant breeze, their scents would be a dead giveaway. And their gait was slow and deliberate, almost an easy jog. They made no effort whatsoever to conceal their path. It was as if they were purposefully announcing their presence.

"How many?" Carlisle asked quietly, interrupting his focus.

"Two," he whispered, quickly glancing down to the slender girl beside him. "James and Victoria."

"Two?" Bella repeated, her voice higher than normal and filled with confusion and incredulity. Her eyes narrowed and her brow creased, as if she were sorting and connecting pieces of a puzzle.

Almost to herself, she whispered, "Why only two? Where's the other one? And why would they come here? There are so many of you. That doesn't make any sense at all. He wouldn't stand a chance against you."

Everyone turned to face her, each eyeing her appraisingly, approvingly. A flash of pride welled in Edward's chest as he acknowledged that she _was_ correct. Even without being privy to Alice's second sight, she understood a game of unknown strategy was afoot, that there was something more, something they didn't know. _James would never attack so many with so few. He's coming for something else_, Edward agreed.

Gently, he squeezed her hand and pulled her against his side. She was hot and soft, molding instantly to his rigid frame. Her arm snaked around his waist, clutching him despite his cool temperature.

He had to get her away from the house; the thought of her being anywhere close to James was intolerable and a risk he was not inclined to take, despite their numbers. Protecting her was the priority. Everything else fell second.

_She's quite perceptive, Edward_, Jasper silently commented.

Saying nothing, he dipped his chin in acknowledgement.

"She's right, Edward," Jasper voiced audibly for the room to hear. "It wouldn't make sense for him to attack. While I don't know this vampire as you do, not even a novice would make that kind of mistake. What does he want? Surely, not to _talk?_"

"I'm not sure. Alice?" Edward returned sincerely, scanning back and forth between them.

Alice looked up, meeting his gaze. Her previously balled fists had been replaced with nervous dry washing and wringing. She was frightened, her eyes wide and liquid gold. Shaking her head, she replied, "I just can't see anything else, Edward. I don't know that he's decided to do anything other than to come here. It's just too hazy, too jumbled."

Glancing at the wall clock, Edward noted that they had but a minute more to decide. _I have to get her away from here!_ his mind yelled at him.

"We have to go," he breathed, his arm tightening around Bella's waist, preparing to scoop her up then and there, readying to race in the direction opposite to James. While he wasn't sure what the right answer was, deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew that it couldn't be sitting there waiting for James to arrive, not knowing his intentions.

He heard Bella's heart rate kick up in time, and her breathing sped. Her heart sounded like rolling thunder, and looking down, he could see the thin layer of skin over her pulse point jumping in time. Hot fingers pressed against his ribcage, and her shoulders tensed. With her sudden anxiety, his own disquiet mounted. Edward hated her worry, he hated that she was afraid.

More than anything, however, he was furious that she even had cause to fear. He was livid and enraged that James had hurt her so severely already, caused so much trauma and suffering, that he had stolen her family and loved ones. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. Bella was too good to be damaged by their wars. The memory of her streaming tears and aching sobs tore through his thoughts, and her desperate pleas to make James suffer spun his mind in circles.

He fought to contain the growl in his chest, and he battled with his muscles, already rippling and braiding, readying to pounce. Venom coated his teeth, dripping and pooling on his tongue. If he were to look in a mirror, he knew that his irises would be blacker than night. His true desire, deep down and hot with the burn of rage and hatred, was to charge James and take him down before he was within earshot of the house. He wanted to tear James from limb to limb, just as had been done to him. Only James's slow death would not be to sate any desires of revenge on Edward's part, it would be for hers.

But all that meant leaving Bella, a proposition that doused the fire and replaced it with cold dread.

He leaned down and caught her russet eyes with his own. Tenderly, he reached across and brushed a wild strand of hair back from her face, an action more to calm himself than her. In a voice barely above a whisper, "Please don't fret, Bella. I just need to get you away from him."

"Edward, you can't take Bella," Carlisle cautioned with a grimace. "It's far too dangerous. You'd be exposed carrying her, and you know that James would follow you rather than stopping here. We need to present a united front. If there are only two, we are more than sufficient to handle whatever it is he intends to do."

Before he had a chance to rebut, Bella's palm lifted and ran down his jaw line, tickling his flesh and momentarily sidetracking him. Her touch was calming, soothing his ire and panic. Her skin was so warm and her fingertips were so unbelievably soft, almost like satin. Captivating him, her eyes were gentle and warm, following her fingers' path. Her head tilted, and quietly, she agreed, "Carlisle's right, Edward. You can't carry me forever. We'd have to stop sometime and he would find us. What then?"

Ill prepared for her agreement, Edward pulled away, frustrated, and his free hand immediately darted to his scalp. Furiously, his fingers raked through his hair, tugging and pulling. He clenched his eyes tightly shut and raised his face to the ceiling. Trying to quell the ballooning unrest, he sucked in lungfuls of her scent.

Wordlessly, he extended his hearing, both natural and mental, out to its limits, trying to detect anything from James, any sign that they were close. They were still miles out, and all he caught were flitting intonations and flashes. All from Victoria. James was obviously masking again, and Edward cursed the day so long ago that he'd divulged his gift to James.

_Carlisle's right, Edward,_ Emmett mutely called out. _You can't run with her. Why don't you leave her in here with the Esme and Rose. And Alice. We'll all step outside the house to see what he wants. He won't dare attack you, Jasper, and me. He can't be that crazy. And maybe, we'll have our own little discussion with him. _

Jasper's thoughts repeated Emmett's almost word for word. And then Rose chimed in as well. Sighing, Edward recognized the logic and rightness of their judgment.

Reluctantly and unhappily, he nodded, accepting his family's opinions as the only real option available. While he could carry Bella indefinitely, that was not the answer. And surrounded by his family, she was safer than if they were alone. Without question, had they had more time and more lead, the clear answer would have been to run and deal with James once she was less of a target, once she was less... _fragile_.

Edward stepped around and stood directly in front Bella, and he tightly grasped the tops of her arms. Forcing himself to remain calm, he implored, "Bella, please, stay inside with Alice and Rose. Esme will be here as well. You will be safe, have no doubt about that. I-, no, _we_ are going to step just outside and try to determine what James is doing, to see what he wants."

Bella's jaw twitched and he could hear the snap of her teeth clamping shut. She wanted to dispute his decision, and for several long seconds, she simply trained her dark eyes directly into his, frowning in disapproval. But she made no move to argue. He could see her thinking, churning over his words, and then finally, coming to some decision.

Before she had a chance to reply, however, abruptly, they heard Alice's quick intake of air. "It's time," she breathed through quivering lips.

He suppressed a wince, not daring to allow Bella to see any note of his trepidation. Softly, Edward pressed his lips to her forehead, inhaling her perfume once more. As he pulled away, he held her wrists up and delicately kissed her palms, murmuring, "Just a moment, love, and I'll be back."

Turning on his heel, he quickly crossed the span of the room in three long strides. Immediately following were Jasper, Carlisle, and Emmett, each fully determined to use whatever means were necessary to ensure the safety of _all_ the family, which, with no doubt, now included Bella.

Perfectly still, they stood shoulder to shoulder directly in front of the house, no more than a pace away. The smell of fresh cut grass permeated the space, mixed with pine and rain-washed air. In the distance, he could just make out the growl of a lone motorcycle skimming one of the tight curves of the main highway. The air was damp and cooler than average, and a thin fog was already rolling down through the shallow valley nearby. Everything had taken on a gray tone, a soft, muted overlay. Were it not for the circumstances, it would have been a pleasant night, a time for relaxation and reflection.

To his left, he could hear Jasper calmly reaching out, trying to ascertain their would-be attackers' state of mind.

_I can feel them, Edward. James is in perfect control of himself, cool and calculating. Victoria, on the other hand, she's hot and very dangerous. She is… excited. But James worries me. He's too cool,_ Jasper noted, directing his thoughts pointedly at Edward.

As the two vampires reached earshot, Emmett's broad shoulders rolled forward, bulking under the stretched navy cotton of his shirt. His knees bent, ready to sink into a defensive position at a moment's notice. Carlisle, surprisingly, was not far behind Emmett. While he had said very little in response to Bella's request, in this moment, he offered no disagreement. Instead, his whole focus was on ridding their family of the danger presented, and that including destroying James's coven if need be.

Their scent floated in with the breeze, filling his nostrils. James's Edward knew well, but Victoria's was remarkably faint, something light and citrusy that he really had not noticed before. Were he not specifically searching, Edward noted that her scent could be easily missed, even by a vampire's acute senses. Hers was truly the gift of escape and stealth.

The telltale crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs and shed bark followed shortly thereafter, popping sharply against the quiet background gurgle of the neighboring stream. As in Alice's vision, their steps were unhurried, loudly announcing their approach. They stopped at the far end of the property, just inside the tree line, just far enough away that they could readily escape, especially considering Victoria's talents. But even at their distance, to Edward's vampire eyes, they were clear and perfectly discernable.

They wore the same arrogant sneers, and their body language mimicked their expressions. They were confident and assured; their stances were of that of those who held all the cards. Not seeing Laurent was disconcerting. _Something is definitely at play here_, Edward thought.

_My dearest Edward!_ James purred silently and almost cordially, but wasting no time. _I see you are well, a bit better for wear than the last time we met._

_I must admit, I hadn't counted on you lasting this long. You are quite persistent, quite the thorn in my side. _

_But of course, you should thank your family for that, I suppose. And little Alice. _

There was a color to his tone that Edward couldn't quite place. He was taunting and mocking, yet real fury belied his amusement.

"What do you want, James?" Edward growled. While his volume was low, there was no mistaking that James could hear. "I should kill you right now."

A dark chuckle echoed against the trees, carrying across the open lawn. _Oh, yes, Edward. Why don't you do that? But be warned, dear brother. Killing me here and now comes with consequences that I think you might want to know before you jump. _

"Alice? Rose?" he heard Bella whisper from inside the house. "What is going on? Please, tell me."

Quickly, he glanced back over his shoulder and through the large front glass. Bella stood, her hand palmed against the glass, looking out, staring fearfully from him to the distant tree line. Her teeth worried her lip, and her skin was blanched white. He knew that she couldn't see James, and he was grateful for that. She didn't need to see him or his wicked glares and surly leers.

His family members were behind her, all three sitting, feigning nonchalance and leaning back into the cream-colored cushions of the sofa. But their expressions told their true thoughts and feelings. They were alert, listening to everything, scanning for any sign of attack or concern.

Alice stared off and out the window, as if she were concentrating with her entire being. With her wide, dazed eyes, she looked nervous and frightened. She was as still as stone, much in the manner that Edward assumed when alarmed. Her breathing was shallow and almost labored, coming out in tight, short pants that shook her dark spiky locks. Edward could see that her thoughts were purely focused, entirely consumed with looking for signs of what would occur.

Rose was more obvious; her piercing gaze rapidly flashed back and forth between Alice and the window. Her brows were creased sharply, marring her flawless features, and her shoulders were stiff and rigid. In tense agitation, her fingers pawed at the textured armrest beside her, and her manicured nails lightly raked across it, the force pilling the fabric.

When he met Esme's gaze, she smiled a small half-smile in response, meant to be reassuring and comforting. But it did not touch her eyes. Her honeyed eyes were tight with concern and her lips were turned in. She watched them through the window as fiercely as Rose.

His head jerked back around as James continued_, You are perhaps wondering where Laurent might be? _

_Let's speak plainly here. His orders are quite simple: if I don't return shortly, some people die. And there is no way you would reach him before that happened. Very effective insurance, isn't it? You wouldn't want that, now would you, Edward? You wouldn't want more innocent blood on your hands. You, with your high morals and love for these pitiable humans. _

At James's unspoken words, his stomach sank, as he processed that his initial fears were proving correct. James was not stupid; in contrast, he was a master planner and plotter. He left nothing to chance. Even consumed with hatred and wrath, he strategized every detail. Even if they all charged James at that very moment, he had planned for that as well. And considering, he couldn't leave Bella alone not knowing what else he had planned.

"Esme? Can you hear them?" he heard Bella ask after receiving no response from Alice or Rose.

Esme shifted uncomfortably and returned softly, "Very little, dear. They aren't really speaking so much. I believe most of the conversation is being held between James and Edward. Silently."

"What are you talking about, James? Why are you here?" Edward asked angrily. "Spit it out already."

James's thoughts were filled with malice and ridicule.

_Cullen, Cullen, ever the impatient one! Tsk-tsk!_

_But before we get to your question, I see that you found Chief Swan? It was such a shame to have to kill him. He was a borderline competent human. And they are so rare. _

_But my, he was a fine meal. Succulent and fragrant. Not half as delectable as that girl of yours will be, though._

White-hot fury coursed through Edward's long-dead veins and his body shot forward of its own volition, momentarily forgetting James's prior words of warning. Inside, his mind was a flurry of venomous thoughts and desires, overriding anything lucid. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to take James down once and for all. He would bargain his soul and remaining years for that one opportunity.

Emmett and Jasper caught his motion before he could begin chase. Wrapping his thick arms around Edward's shoulders and torso, Emmett created a cage from which not even the strongest vampire could escape.

"Edward! Don't be foolish. What is he saying? He's just trying to provoke you. Don't give him what he wants," Jasper snapped.

Struggling against Emmett's hold, Edward snarled, "I'm going to kill you, James. For Bella, I am going to rip you apart. I swear it. Today, tomorrow, it doesn't matter, you will die for what you did to her."

"Perhaps," James mused aloud. "Maybe even tonight. Cullen, I grow weary of playing with you. I want this, whatever it is between us, over and done.

"You will meet me tonight. You can find me, I'm sure of it.

"And if you don't? If you decide to run with her?" he laughed, a dark smile stretching across his face. "Let's just say that what I set up with Laurent would be pale in comparison."

Suddenly deathly serious and filled with hate and wrath, James grated, "I'll kill every last person in this wretched little town of yours. _All of them_. You know me, Edward; you know that I can and that I will."

Still, perfect silence followed James's declaration. No one moved, either in the house or out; their thoughts were shocked and stunned beyond words or response. _This_, this madness and promise of massacre, was not anticipated, in no way even considered. The dread that had dropped his stomach before swelled and pulsed like a live being, and for the first time in a century, Edward felt cold.

The notion that so many could fall victim was an insufferable option. Edward knew that there was no choice in the matter. He would have to face James, and to do so, he would have to leave Bella.

"Esme? What are they saying? They've been out there for too long," Bella panicked. "Please!"

Bella's heartbeat was the only sound he heard. It sounded as though her heart were literally slamming into her sternum. His own breathing matched her rhythm, and he swallowed thickly. His mind blanked, as if he'd just been punched.

James's maniacal laugh and words resounded and echoed through his thoughts.

Behind him, he heard Rose sharply whisper in a hushed voice, "He's given Edward an ultimatum."

"What?" Bella stammered.

"He's threatening the town," Rose breathed, and then continued, explaining what James had demanded.

James called out, loudly and snidely, "Don't be too long, Edward. I'm very much looking forward to this."

Saying nothing more, he and Victoria turned and fled at full speed.

Numbly, Edward looked around. Emmett's head hung low, his thoughts pure chaos. Jasper was in little better shape, but was attempting to calm the family. However, given that his own anxiety was high, his efforts were hardly effective.

His gaze passed over to Carlisle. His creator and father wore an expression of both outrage and horror. This was a look Edward had never witnessed, and he assumed one likely never assumed before. No matter if they'd chased down and caught James and Victoria, and even made it to town to find Laurent in short order, more innocent people would no doubt die first. And that was something that no one in the family could manage on his conscience. James's malice knew no bounds.

Slowly, Edward walked back and into the house, directly training his path to Bella. Stopping just short of her, he met her already tearing eyes. Her frame shuddered, and her breathing was erratic. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her swaying body, instinctively understanding she was close to the brink.

He fought to hold himself upright; his body's first inclination was to fall to his knees in front of her and beg. Shakily, he breathed, "Just tell me, Bella. Tell me to stay and I won't go. I won't chase him. I'll take you away from here. Just us."

Her head bobbed furiously, and her lips quivered. Carefully, trying to not frighten her further, he reached out and cupped her cheek. At his touch, her tenuous hold on her emotions broke, and a jumble of panic and fright spilled out in a teary, garbled run of words.

"No, Edward. No, that can't happen. No more, God, no more. No more dying. Not like Dad, please. You have to stop him," she faltered, as she fell against his chest.

With everything he had, he attempted to mimic confidence, to bolster her up and to not allow her to see his fear. Inside, however, he spinning and lurching, wholly and purely terrified of failing. If they did not succeed in destroying James, and mostly likely Victoria as well, Bella would be at immediate risk. Images of her prone and unconscious, caked with her own blood, threatened to rip away his sanity.

For a few short minutes, he held her closely, feeling her life and warmth thrum through his body. With less caution than ever before, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She returned his fervor with passion of her own, latching her arms around his neck, pulling his lips tighter against hers. There was heat and fear and urgency in their motions. Her fingers wound through the hair at the nape of his neck, gripping as though she never wanted to let go. He snapped his eyes shut, fighting the sting of unshedable tears. This kiss was desperate and full of dread, as though it would be their last.

She exhaled unevenly and closed her eyes. Her body shook in his arms, and he could feel hot tears dripping and soaking through his shirt. Pleadingly, she murmured against his lips, "Edward, please come back. You have to come back to me. No matter what he says or does or what happens. Please. I just- I just need you to… I just need _you_. You're all that I have left. I can't lose you."

* * *

_**April 19, 2009**_  
_**8:02 pm**_  
_**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington **_

The knot in the pit of Bella's stomach curled and tightened the moment they left the house. Through the window, the same window that she'd been standing behind moments before, she watched the four men depart, headed off in the same direction James had gone minutes before. They were so fast, just blurred flashes to her human vision, and before they even reached the tree line, they vanished into the dark shadows.

She looked up, gazing at the speckling of stars just beginning to appear through the few cloudless spots in the sky. The sun had settled beyond the horizon, and faint red and orange swirls, the only remainders of the day, reflected off the clouds.

It was eerily quiet in the house; all she could hear were echoing ticks of clocks and her own breathing. Seated crossed-legged on the couch, Alice remained perfectly motionless and quiet, her eyes focusing and unfocusing with alarming frequency. Bella knew enough from what Edward had told her to understand that she was searching the future for any sign of danger or disaster.

Upstairs, Rose and Esme were following Edward's and Carlisle's instructions, making the final preparations to depart. Like the others, they moved in a frenzy of vampire speed and silence.

Within minutes, they would be running up the highway as fast as their vehicle would carry them, headed north into Canada, eventually going all the way to Great Bear Lake. The plan was for them to meet along the way after they had dispatched with James. It was a plan to which they'd all quickly come and agreed. They'd all mutely recognized that there was too much risk in remaining in the house; James knew where to find them there... _in case they failed_. But that was never spoken aloud. Instead, Edward had simply shrugged and said that they had intended to go there anyway for her change.

But leaving without Edward felt wrong, and a deep sense of foreboding threatened to take Bella to her knees. Over and over, he had assured her that all would be well and that they four could easily handle James's coven of three. With Emmett's strength, Jasper's experience, and Edward's speed and gifts, they'd even suggested that Carlisle stay with them. But Bella had seen through their dissembling. She had felt the desperation and need behind Edward's kiss. He was scared, just as much as she was.

Bella's mind raced through the last hour, trying to come to some level of comfort with their decision. But there was none to be had; no matter what decision they made, there were potential consequences that she could not stomach. The idea – no,_ knowledge_ – that James would murder so many was simply unbearable. Visions of her father, her mother, and Jacob coursed through her thoughts along with all those names she'd seen in the local news. The notion of children suffering that fate was just… too much.

Yet simultaneously, the mere mention of Edward facing down James again, risking the same or a worse outcome as their battle outside the store, was entirely horrifying and threatened to send her into near convulsions. The thought of losing him was wholly unbearable, for amidst all the chaos and despair of the last weeks and months, she had found her life's companion, the one she could not be without.

Helpless and unable to alter their realisty, all she could do was wait and pray that everything would turn out as Edward had said it would. Again and again, she lifted her eyes upward and offered her pleas. _Please, God, please let him return to me. Let him end this. _

Abruptly, her internal warring was interrupted by a sharp intake of breath. Startled, she jerked her gaze downward and found that Alice's lips had parted and dropped and her eyebrows had climbed her forehead. Another soft gasp escaped her lips, followed by a low, agonized moan. In less than two seconds, Rose and Esme had descended the stairs and were hovering nearby, both radiating undisguised fear.

Alice's eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Her eyes bore into Bella's but Bella knew that Alice wasn't seeing her; she was seeing something else from some unnamed time. Panic stabbed at her gut, and she nearly doubled over from the sensation. Completely consumed by immediate, unbridled terror, Bella's limbed seized, and she cried out incoherently.

"No! Stop!" Alice whispered. "Trap. No, it's a trap! There's more of them!"

Bella watched in a daze as Alice's slim fingers dug into the tops of her thighs, ripping through fabric, as the vision played on. For what seemed like an eternity, the house was absolutely silent.

Suddenly, without warning, Alice shrieked at near mind-shattering volume, "No, Edward! No, no! Jazz, stop him! Oh, God, do something!"

Instantly, Esme bent down and grabbed Alice by the shoulders, shaking her from her stupor. "Go, Alice! Go, now!" she commanded. "Find them!"

Alice started, wrenched from her vision, and looked up. A split second of silent communication passed between the two women, and then Alice sprung up and streaked out the door at unfathomable speed.


	25. Sacrifice

_**April 19, 2009**_  
_**8:12 pm**_  
_**Somewhere north of the Cullen family home in the Olympia National Park, Washington**_

High above, soft white light filtered down through sparse breaks in the treetops. Gauzy, translucent beams splintered off the microscopic droplets of water suspended in the light fog, creating a luminescent lavender glow. Spiraling upward, following the light, swarms of gray-white moths and dragonflies fluttered and floated. The hum of their buzzing wings overhead and the light rustle of small paws at his feet sounded loud, almost deafening in the stillness of the forest. It was almost too quiet; the only other sound was that of the air whipping past his ears.

But all of it was secondary, only picked up by his peripheral senses, the running catalogue of sights and sounds that his vampire mind detected without his conscious direction. His true focus was purely on the two scents in front of him.

It was difficult to maintain his speed. Being the fastest, Edward's first inclination was to race ahead as swiftly as his legs would carry him. He knew, however, that would be a foolish mistake, an error made only by an irrational, emotional being. Something told him that James hoped for just that, that he would be so angered and hot that his judgment would lapse. Edward knew that there was far too much at stake to allow his rage to overcome his logic. At least, that was what he reminded himself. Inside, he was blistering.

During their brief meeting, James and his mate had been careful in hiding their thoughts. James was just experienced enough with Edward's talent to know how to mask, albeit only for short interludes. His mind centered solely on the words that he spoke, and during periods of silence, his thoughts seemed almost blank.

Victoria, of course, did not possess James's knowledge or practice, but most likely at his direction, had busied her mind by recreating long and intricately woven series of number theory proofs and scenarios. She'd been so focused and had been processing the numbers so quickly that all Edward had been able to glean from her was that there was something else was at play. There was a tone to her thoughts, a note of expectancy and anticipation. He immediately surmised that a trap or ambush of some sort was waiting, especially considering that James's coven was only three. _Surely,_ he thought. _James would realize that I would not come alone this time and that my family would outnumber his coven. _But there was little he could do, other than to proceed cautiously and be prepared for the worst.

Immediately on his heels was Jasper, followed by Emmett and Carlisle running in parallel. Barely touching the forest floor, they raced between the trees, darting and weaving at blinding speed, just four streaks of dark colors mixed with light.

Their minds were tight and focused, concentrating on the task ahead. They were angered, not just for Bella but for the entire town. In Edward's world, in the world of his family, what James had threatened was unconscionable and could not be tolerated, even if it meant them running blindly ahead. It was one thing to attack a coven; it was something altogether different to bring innocents, who had no hope of self-defense, into the fray.

As they ran, he could hear Jasper poring through the memories of hundreds of previous battles and skirmishes, some dating back to his earliest years. In his mind, he vividly re-created scenes, play-by-play, noting areas to look for weakness, where to strike, where to defend. He focused on hand positioning, angles of attack, feinting, and dodging. He remembered all the ways he'd taken his enemies down. The vibrancy of his memories, full of sounds and smells and gore was startling. Edward had never seen these thoughts before; they'd been repressed, shoved deep down in the blackest part of his mind.

_Are you watching, Edward?_ he abruptly intoned.

Then it dawned on him that Jasper was _instructing_ him in what few moments remained. He was sharing all the tricks and hints he'd learned over the course of his less than gentle existence, sharing with him his dark past, hoping that his memories could provide some measure of advantage.

_This isn't going to be easy, even though we're up one man_, Jasper continued tensely. _James is… impressive. And the two he has with him are easily on par with you or me_._ His mate is quick and that big one, Laurent, knows what he's doing. _

_Emmett's strong but he doesn't have the background. And Carlisle… I don't want to think about that._

_And there is still more going on. This doesn't feel right at all. But we didn't really have much of a choice, other than bringing in Alice and Rose – and I wouldn't have allowed that. And Carlisle would have never allowed us to leave the area, even if James's threat was only that – a threat._

"I know, Jasper," Edward said quietly under his breath, his simple answer addressing all of his points.

They were getting closer; James's scent was stronger. From the criss-crossed paths marked by fainter, older scents, Edward could tell that James had been in this area earlier. As Edward expected, he knew the terrain and had prepared. He'd known all along that neither Edward nor his family would allow him to make good on his threat against the town. James never took on risk without insurance.

Mere yards ahead, an acres-large clearing awaited, the remnants of decades prior clear-cutting. It was a familiar place to Edward, a wide, open lawn where they'd come often as a family. Tucked away deep in the woods at the foot of Mt. Ellis, it was just far enough away from town that they could wrestle and even play Emmett's favorite, football, without fear of discovery. There were no homes or camps nearby, no worries that the thunder of vampire bodies colliding would reach mortal ears.

Edward heard _them_ moments before crossing the tree line. From across the field, more than half a mile away, Laurent's familiar mental voice, laced with just a tinge of an almost-lost French accent, was quietly and calmly appraising their speed. Victoria's, haughty and over-confident, was focusing on their approach and on James. Like Laurent, she was gauging their path and timing.

The next voice that touched Edward's awareness was new. It was not James; instead it was that of a girl, barely more than a teenager. She was excited and bloodthirsty. And then from their left, a fourth voice rang in his ears, that of a boy. Unlike the girl, he was nearly trembling in trepidation, anxious for what he feared would be his death.

They were five, not three. This was James's insurance, his way of evening out the playing field. They had discussed this very possibility before they'd left; it fit with James's typical mode of operation. It fit with his tendency to tilt the odds. James's words from before repeated in his mind.

_Fair? What exactly does 'fair' have to do with anything? 'Fair' is an archaic, idealistic notion concocted by those who do not possess the means to take what they want._

"Stop! There are five of them!" Edward hissed, slowing to a crawl as they broke into the open field.

Behind him, he heard the voices of his brothers and father. Their thoughts were a mixture of fear and anger and frustration. Emmett spat out a string of curses and was preparing to barrel across the open space, despite Edward's words. Jasper, in contrast, was deathly quiet, filled with a cool, calculating anger. He recognized their danger and apparent disadvantage, and he'd already planned for it. With neither anger nor fear, Carlisle grimly acknowledged their potential fate.

Above, the clouds had parted and the field was illuminated with the pale, white light of the waxing moon. Everything appeared gray and colorless, washed out in the moonlight. With the slight breeze, the tall grass swayed and leaned. Mixed with the natural smells surrounding them, vampire scents finally reached them: rich sandalwood, mint, young oak, spring cherry blossoms, and then the slight hint of Victoria's weak scent of citrus.

Back-to-back, in a loose square, they stood waiting for the imminent attack. Out in the open, they would at least be granted some measure of warning. But it felt more like they were exposed, like sitting ducks.

_Ah, there you are, Edward!_ James called silently, taunting in tone, as he appeared from within the forest opposite them. _So wonderful of you to finally join us. I'd almost given up hope for you. _

A dark smile stretched across his lips, and his scarlet eyes danced with amusement._ I hope you don't mind, but as you can see, my coven has grown! You should have brought a few more, perhaps our little Alice. Or gentle Esme. _

_Or maybe if you'd been man enough and turned that little human of yours, you could have let her in on our fun. It's a touch disconcerting how vulnerable you left her. She hasn't really a chance, now has she? I can't wait to taste her once I've dispatched you. _

At the mention of Bella, the feral demon inside sprung to life with ripping snarls and growls. The rage was hot and fiery, threatening to overcome his sanity. His fingers curled into talons as he imagined wrapping his hands around James's throat.

But deep down, Edward knew he was being baited. Desperately, he fought to calm himself, to regain coherency. He thought of Bella's perfect face and form, her quiet murmurs in the night, how her fingers traced along his jaw. With every rational fiber in his being, he quelled the beast, knowing that he would have his chance in short order. He had to remain calm; otherwise he would make mistakes.

Spread out widely across the arced boundary of the field, James's coven members appeared, two to the left flank and two to the right. With a subtle nod from James, they slowly advanced. As they crossed the space, Edward felt the buzz of his phone at his hip. But with their approach, he couldn't dare to risk answering.

Edward could see their strategy; they had already divvied out targets, much in the way that he and his family had. Through Laurent's own thoughts, Edward watched him center and gravitate toward Jasper, his thick tendons already twisting in anticipation. Theirs would be a difficult and hard-won fight, two lean and fast vampires, both with ample knowledge of combat. The two new vampires, the slight, dark-headed girl and the pale-haired boy, stalked toward Emmett, one to each side.

To Edward's terror, he watched Victoria's lethal gaze train on Carlisle. Her sadistic thoughts were already running through her motions of attack, wanting to inflict as much pain as possible. In their strategizing, Emmett and Carlisle were supposed to take Victoria together.

And James, of course, was focused on him.

Edward quickly glanced around, meeting his family's eyes for a split second, a silent, fleeting moment of understanding and encouragement.

_Don't worry, Edward, I've got those two young ones. And once I'm done with them, I'll help Carlisle with that minx, _Emmett said with a wink. But his surety was only on the surface; Edward knew that inside he was apprehensive, worried about what would happen to Rose were he to fail.

_Watch the red-haired one, Edward_, Jasper warned. _I can take Laurent. I'll deal with him as quickly as I can and then go after Victoria. You need to focus on James and James only. _But like Emmett, beneath his cool exterior, a part of him was contemplating failure.

Carlisle's thoughts were gentle and soft, and unlike his brothers, not focused on the battle itself. _Son, no matter what happens here, make sure that Bella is safe. Make sure that all of them are safe._

"I will, Carlisle," he whispered under his breath.

For what seemed like an eternity, they faced off, each step drawing them closer. With each second, their scents became stronger, mingled and sharp, and the crunch of footfalls crushing the stiff prairie grass echoed.

Edward dropped low, crouching and curling his fists, preparing for attack. James mimicked his movements; his spine bent and his muscles rippled beneath the fabric of his shirt. His lips curled back, exposing his teeth, and a livid sneer colored his face.

"I've been waiting for this, Cullen," he spat.

Out of his periphery, a sudden motion of dark hair and white skin caught Edward's attention. A half of a second later, he heard two bodies crash. Emmett's growling roar split the air and the ground suddenly shook as the second young vampire – Riley – tackled the tangled bodies of his brother and the girl.

In that moment, it seemed as though hell broke lose in a dizzying whir of vampire velocity and strength. Seconds felt like hours as bodies moved in graceful, deadly dances at unfathomable speed.

Suddenly, bodies raced across open grass, leaping and colliding in a series of thunderous explosions. Wild howls and feral snarls erupted all around, as bodies tumbled and fell.

In a blinding rush, James sprinted forward just as Edward darted sideways. As he flew past, missing him by mere inches, Edward grabbed his shoulders and jerked him around. Following Jasper's earlier direction, Edward's fists pummeled James's abdomen and torso, shattering his ribs and sternum with loud, snapping pops. For a moment, James was staggered and caught off guard. Finding his opening, Edward's teeth locked down on James's upper arm, ripping away a thick, white chunk of flesh.

Baying in pain, James grappled and latched on to Edward's forearms. With a twist of his body, he lifted Edward and slung him overhead, slamming his back onto the ground. Lithely and without delay, Edward jumped back to his feet, ignoring the pain, and charged toward James again, fists outstretched. As his left hand crossed and rammed into James's jaw, Edward simultaneously felt the sharp crack and break of his hip against James's boot. At contact, his steps faltered, but his fingers wrapped around James's neck and held on.

To his left, he heard Jasper's low, seductive purr coaxing Laurent into position. In his mind, Edward could see that Laurent had already sustained severe damage to his left side and chest from their first engagement. But Jasper wasn't unscathed either. His arm hung limply and unnaturally at his side, likely broken in multiple locations and nearly torn from its socket.

To Edward's right, Emmett was rolling on the ground with the blond-haired young one, his teeth digging into the boy's throat. A large, gaping wound in the boy's back told Edward that Emmett was ahead in their fight.

Behind him, Carlisle and Victoria were squaring off for a second attack. The first had left them both injured, but still capable. Long, jagged gashes littered Carlisle's arms and upper back, and his face was taut with pain. As they circled, Victoria stalked forward with a marked limp. But unlike Carlisle, Edward could see that her features were still curled up into an excited smile. She'd yet to unleash her true strength; she was playing.

James's grating voice, breathless and roughened by Edward's hold on his throat, interrupted his assessment. "Impressive, Cullen, but not good enough!" he roared, as his elbow suddenly smashed into Edward's chin and knocked his hold loose.

James spun again, twisting and curling his body, just dodging Edward's quick arms. Not wasting a breath, he charged a third time, this time diving at Edward's knees and sending him to the ground. In a jumble of tangled and thrashing limbs, they tumbled head over heels down the field, kicking up a spray of damp grass and dirt. As they rolled, James's razor sharp nails cut into Edward's flesh, and his teeth slashed at his face and throat. As they lurched to a halt, in swift defense, again mimicking Jasper's instructions, Edward's arms raised, and with all his strength, he shoved James upward and away.

In a streaking blur, James hurtled through the air, flying more than one hundred yards down field from the force Edward had exerted. As he skidded across the ground, the muddy earth broke open and rolled up behind him from the weight and speed of his body making contact.

Just as James landed, Edward heard the piercing metallic shriek of vampire flesh being torn.

He watched as Laurent's body flew through the air and crashed into a distant tree trunk. With a low growl, Jasper raced across width of the field, flinging himself at Laurent's mangled body.

Concurrently, another wrenching screech came from behind him. Jerking around toward the sound, Edward watched from across the field as Carlisle desperately threw himself at Victoria, only to graze her arm. Her soprano voice distorted into a raw, gurgling snarl. Just as he sped past, her booted foot came around and planted into his back. As she stepped, she reached out and grabbed his right arm, pulling it from its juncture. Carlisle's cry of pain reverberated against the trees.

"Jasper! Stop Edward!" a loud, female voice screamed. "Stop him!"

Stunned, Edward's eyes ripped away from Carlisle toward the direction of Alice's voice. She was still a half a mile away, flying as fast as her legs would carry her through the trees. Her thoughts came unbidden, loud and focused and tense with terror.

Without thinking, Edward rapidly scanned through her thoughts, and in a fraction of a second, he saw the vision that had sent her running. It was clear and bright and horrifying in its implications.

_Victoria tearing Carlisle limb from limb. Long, yawning wounds littering his flesh and meaty chunks missing from his torso. Black circles around his golden eyes. Blue splotches pooling and spreading across his white flesh. _

_Edward intervening, yanking Victoria off of Carlisle. Slinging her across the field, her body crashing through the trees. Victoria, running, darting and flitting through the forest. Him chasing her down, slamming her into a tall outcropping of rock. Him slicing his teeth across her neck, her head rolling across the rocky ground._

_Black-purple smoke unfurling and rising. The stench of burning vampire flesh._

_In the distance, James speeding through the trees, racing toward the house. _

_Edward following… but too far away. Too late… _

_In the house, Bella's face, contorted and twisted. Her voice screaming in pain and agony. James biting into her throat. Her blood, bright red and thick, pouring down her neck and chest. _

He didn't know what to make of Alice's vision, what he should do. For a brief moment, Edward hesitated, frozen and unsure. For that fraction of a second, it was as if time had ceased to move forward, as if he were caught in a never-ending loop. No matter his decision, he would lose.

All of the sudden, Edward felt a body slam into his back, and slender arms wrapped around his waist, dragging him to the ground. The girl – Bree – had abandoned her mate to fight Emmett alone. The boy's screams rattled in Edward's ears; Emmett was likely ending him in short order.

He rolled them, shaking the girl off his back. In a blur of motion, he pinned her to the ground and attacked her with his hands. She was vicious in her thrashing limbs, but she was no match for both his fury and skill. His teeth sought her neck, shredding and tearing her flesh. Her high-pitched voice wailed in pain, but as soon as his teeth cut through, her screams silenced.

Rapidly he looked up and around, his eyes searching for Victoria just as his mind searched for James. But James was nowhere to be found; his thoughts were missing from the chaos of thoughts in the field. Victoria, he found at the far edge of the field.

Edward's eyes widened in realization just as he watched Victoria's hands clamp on either side of Carlisle's head.

"Edward! Go after James! He's doubling back!" Alice shouted, just as she reached the left edge of the field, perpendicular to both him and Carlisle. Her voice sounded hollow, as if she were shouting in an empty barrel.

"No!" he roared. "Carlisle!"

Somewhere, he heard the voices of Jasper and Emmett echoing his protest.

Almost as if in slow motion, his eyes met his creator's. Even in the distance, Edward could see that in that moment, they were warm and liquid gold. While Carlisle's features were distorted from the pain of his wounds, his eyes were at peace, just as they always were.

Cutting through the chaos, Carlisle's voice softly called_, No, Edward. You promised me. No matter what happens, make sure that all of them are safe. Take care of Esme and tell her I love her. You must save them._

And then, time lurched, springing as if in fast-forward. Victoria sneered and growled in triumph, and there was a resounding snap of a vampire's neck twisting and cleaving. The sound struck Edward in his gut, knocking him to his knees as surely as any attack of James's. His fingers dug into the muddy earth as he watched a tiny spark of yellow-red light launch up into the night sky and arc through the air. Instantly, the tiny spark exploded into a ball of brilliant fire, and curling wisps of purple-black smoke streamed upward.

In a deafening, animalistic bellow, Edward screamed his rage and sorrow. His head lolled back and he stared up into the night. His eyes turned to black specks of coal, and all-consuming fury filled his body, saturating him to the bone. He could feel it coursing through his long dead veins, a molten and burning sulfurous madness. His fists curled and pummeled the ground in a fury of blows. The demon's head reared back, and this time, he did nothing to contain it.

Unbidden, Carlisle's words rang out and resounded in his ears, jerking him up.

In an unthinking flash, he was on his feet and racing as swiftly as his body ever had toward their home and, more importantly, toward Bella. As he ran, his mind was numbed by the unbridled wrath he'd dampened before. No longer able to fight it, he allowed the rage to completely overtake and consume him, allowed it to direct his feet and direct his mind. He didn't think of that to which he'd just borne witness; he didn't process that he'd just seen the death of his father and creator. He knew that that pain would come and would have its time. For now, curtains of blood-red vengeance blanketed his vision and awareness.

Only vaguely was he conscious of the thoughts of his brothers and of Alice rapidly fading behind him. Just as he was leaving earshot, he heard the shrill resonance of rending metal and saw through his family's enraged vision the destruction of their opponents. And then, through Alice's thoughts, he watched as she violently tackled Victoria to the ground in a fury of teeth and curled limbs.

* * *

_**April 19, 2009**_  
_**9:18 pm**_  
_**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington**_

"What do we do?" Rosalie asked quietly. "Do we wait for Alice to return?"

Her voice was low and carefully controlled, but Bella sensed Rosalie's anxiety. Despite her best efforts, the tension oozed and radiated out from around her, evidenced in her every move and word. Rosalie's shoulders were taut and stiff, and her amber eyes were wary and fearful. She feared for them all: for the three women remaining at the house, but more so for her mate, brothers, and creator.

Edward had told Bella days prior that neither Esme nor Rosalie were fighters, neither ever having been trained. For the entirety of their existences, they'd lived the quiet, pacifist lifestyle of their creator and family. In fact, Rosalie rivaled Carlisle in that she'd never tasted human blood, having resisted since the very beginning. And according to Edward, Esme had only slipped once, and that had been in the first days of her vampire life. While they possessed the vampire strength, speed, and unparalleled senses, they would pose little risk to a seasoned fighter, even if he were alone.

Bella glanced over to the doorway as Esme emerged from the closet. Keys jingling in hand, she eyed Rosalie and replied softly, "We leave. Right now, no more waiting. They'll catch up and meet us."

"But what about Alice?" Bella returned, unable to hide her trepidation.

Esme's golden eyes warmed, offering what reassurance she could. "I understand your fears, Bella, but we must leave. We can't delay further. It's just not safe.

"Alice will find us, too, just like the boys. Have no fear for her; she can take care of herself. She'll find Jasper, and everything will be okay."

Bella implicitly understood the need to depart. Staying at the Cullen house, where James knew them to be, was an unwise decision. They needed to leave the area completely, for their safety as well as that of the town. Even if something were to happen – something that Bella could not bring herself to acknowledge – then James would come for her without question. By default, that would place Rosalie and Esme in danger.

And too, the further away from the town they could draw James, the safer it would be for innocents that had no place in this war. She wanted no more blood, neither in the literal human sense nor in the figurative vampire sense, spilled. Escape was the best option available.

Quickly nodding, she rose from her place on the sofa by Rose and followed Esme to the garage. On her heels, she heard Rosalie's muffled footsteps.

Inside the cavernous garage, a large, menacing-looking black SUV, outfitted with over-sized knobby tires and spotlights, was waiting and facing nose outward. With a reach and a jump, she found herself sliding along cool, shiny black leather. Within moments, the fire of the vehicle's big-block engine roared to life, reverberating in the empty space of the garage. Like a shot from a canon, they sped out of the building and down the Cullens' drive.

Where Rosalie lacked in fighting skills, Bella noted she did not lack in driving skills. With almost nauseating acceleration, they whipped around the sharp, narrow curves of the drive, blowing clouds of gravel in their wake. It took them only a minute to reach the hard pavement of the county road, less than a third of the time it would have taken at normal speed.

Through the window, black outlines of trees and posts whizzed past, framed by white moonlight and the violet beams of their spotlights. At their speed, the shining reflectors embedded in the center lane separator glowed a brilliant sunset yellow, appearing as a long, blurry line instead of individual reflections.

Inside the vehicle's cabin, it was cool and dry. The scents of leather and plastic commingled with the soft, sweet scents Bella had come to associate with Esme and Rose.

From her backseat station, she watched them carefully, looking for any sign of distress or warning. Rose's eyes were glued tightly to the road ahead, focusing on maintaining their speed and course. Her perfectly arched brows were angled down and her lips were pursed into a hard, straight line. In the orange light of the instrument panel, her concentration was evident and clear.

In the passenger seat, Esme sat straight and upright. In obvious apprehension, her head sharply whipped back and forth as her narrowed eyes scoured their surroundings for any hint of their family. _More likely for James_, Bella corrected.

They'd traveled for five minutes with no sign of chase. _Maybe, just maybe, James is already dead,_ Bella wished. But approximately one mile from the county road intersection, Bella heard an abrupt intake of breath followed by a rushed and panicked exclamation that turned her blood cold.

"Right, Rose! Turn! Faster!" Esme yelled, her voice high and trembling.

Esme's body had spun around, her gaze targeted to something behind them. Bella twisted in her seat, trying to locate what Esme was staring at, but all she saw was the pavement whizzing by, gleaming red from their taillights.

But Esme's expression told her everything she needed to know. In apparent dread, her lips were slacked and dropped open and her eyes were wide. Esme's normally soft and round features were hard and tight, her fear readily seen.

Bella's stomach rolled and dropped, and she could taste the sour hint of bile rising on her tongue. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing caught, painfully swelling her chest. Sharp, prickling needles of fear colored her every thought, and she shivered as the blood drained from her face.

When she felt the SUV swing wildly to the right, Bella gripped the door handle and clawed at the flat leather covering the open seat beside her. The vehicle fishtailed, swaying from left to right, the tires skidding and screeching across the asphalt. But before the vehicle corrected its path, however, she felt it.

Bella had been in car accidents before; she knew what it felt like when another automobile failed to stop and rammed into the backend of another. She'd felt the whiplash and heard the shuddering crash of metal on metal. She'd felt the momentary weightlessness and subsequent slam of a vehicle moving through the air and crashing into the earth.

_That _was precisely what it felt like.

She felt their vehicle lift off the ground and begin to barrel roll off the side of the road. They rolled over and over, and in that moment, it didn't seem like they would ever stop. Ahead of them, through the glass, Bella watched the earth tilt and rotate counter-clockwise in rapid spinning cartwheels.

_Four? Five? Six rolls?_ she vaguely processed. Her seat belt held her securely in place, but her head bobbled around, jerking and wrenching her neck. Inside the cabin, she heard her own terrorized screams mixed with Esme's and Rosalie's softer, surprised gasps and cries.

They landed in an abrupt crash of glass and metal. Tree branches jutted through the broken windows and Bella realized that they'd somehow landed on their side in the woods, or at least at the edge. As the engine died, the lights of the SUV sputtered out, and the smell of gasoline and motor oil flooded her nostrils. Blood rushed to her head, and everything went black.

But thankfully, a few seconds later, Bella's consciousness returned. Everything felt angled and skewed. Her frame of reference was off, rotated ninety degrees. And the straps of her belt dug into her abdomen, holding her suspended in the air.

With fumbling fingers, she groped for her belt release, trying to free herself from her bindings. As the straps retracted, she felt herself slide and fall along the leather until the opposite door caught her descent. The sudden stop jarred her mind and brought with it some sense of cognizance.

She barely noticed that somehow, by some miracle, she wasn't bleeding. At least not that Bella could tell; she couldn't smell the coppery tinge of blood, and when she felt her arms and legs, nothing felt sticky or wet. She did hurt all over, but the seatbelt had performed its purpose.

She moved sluggishly, still dazed and numb from the sudden motion and impact. Her vision was cloudy and blurry, and the fact that it was nearly pitch black outside made it impossible for her to see what was going on. Somewhere in the background, she heard the crunches of feet moving across grass and leaves and then, all of a sudden, what could only be described as deafening explosions.

Glancing around, Bella hazily realized that she was alone in the vehicle, and she realized that she needed to get out as quickly as possible. Scrambling to her knees, she felt around the dark cabin until she understood her orientation, apprehending that she would have to climb up and out.

With all the strength she had remaining, Bella climbed up the tipped seat and worked her way out through the broken side window. As she pulled herself out through the window, she scanned the nearby area, trying to locate Rosalie or Esme.

But everything was still so dark. With only the moonlight to illuminate her surroundings, all she could see was the outline of their SUV and the leaning branches of the trees.

Her haze was cleared by the sound of an abrupt roar to her right and then what sounded like rumbling peals of thunder. Cracking and splintering tree trunks pierced through the thunder, and defensive feminine snarls and growls responded.

Loud booms rang out and more roars and snaps followed. In the distant dark, Bella heard cries of pain and fear. Their pain cut through her like a knife.

They were losing.

_Where is Edward? How did James get past? Is Edward…? No, impossible!_

If it was due to shock or something else – Bella didn't know – she realized that she was remarkably calm. Her heartbeat settled into an almost normal rhythm and the dread in the pit of her stomach dissipated. This was the fate she'd feared all along, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

_Except... No more had to die. She could do something._

Ungracefully, she hastily stumbled across the uneven ground until she found pavement. She balled her fists and wrapped her arms around her sides. In a wheezy and raspy voice, she yelled out angrily.

"Stop it, James! Right now, damn you, you son of a bitch, stop it!

"Take me, and leave them alone! I'm the one you want. Come get me. If you can."

Quiet stillness ensued. And then a soft, dark laugh echoed in the forest. Before she could blink, she felt more than saw a black and white whir dart from the trees.

Startled by the sudden appearance, she jumped at his cool breath washing across the back of her neck. Behind her, she felt him lean down and whisper in her ear.

"My dearest Isabella. How kind of you to offer yourself. I may just take you up that, but not here. I want to relish your taste. Not on some seedy human roadside. This will take time…

"Edward will be delighted that you came so willingly. That I didn't have to… _persuade_ you.

"Shall we go?" he purred seductively.

A sudden blow to her temple dazed her and nearly sent her unconscious. Groggy and disoriented, partly from the wreck and partly from the blow, she felt iron-gripped arms grapple around her shoulders and waist, pinning her arms to her ribcage. She felt his cool body, hard and lean, so very similar yet so different from Edward's, lifting her up just before sprinting through the trees. As they sped through the night, she felt cool droplets of fog smacking her in the face.

"He's going to kill you," she murmured before blacking out. "I swear to it."

"I doubt that, my pet," James chuckled. "Although I do hope he survives long enough to try."


	26. Isabella

_**April 19, 2009  
10:36 pm  
Vacant garage, Port Angeles, Washington**_

The ground was cold and hard, and it reeked of oil and sweat. It smelled like… cars and grease and metal and tacky rubber. But there was another smell, too, one that mingled in with the grease, something sweet and cloying. It was some strange mixture of scents that she just could not place. But it was familiar and remnants of it still lingered on her clothes. While it was entirely different, it somehow reminded her of Edward.

_Edward_, she thought, and her mind instantly cleared.

When she opened her eyes, the world was cocked, tipped on its side. A dim, orange glow streamed down from large rectangular windows above, bathing the room in eerie light. While diffuse and weak, it was enough to ascertain her surroundings. Open gunmetal-colored cabinets lined the far wall, and stacks of old tires – piled eight and ten high – decorated the corner and adjacent wall. In the center, there was a wide expanse of empty floor only interrupted by regularly spaced thick steel supports.

Quickly, Bella realized that she was in a garage of sorts, one, judging by its condition, that had been abandoned years prior. But she didn't know how long she had been unaware, and as such, she had no reference point as to where this garage might be located. Considering the vampire speed she'd witnessed, distance held little meaning. She could be in Oregon just as easily as in Forks.

Grit and grime clung to her skin, and every time she moved her head, it felt like sandpaper scraping against her cheek. Her left arm was twisted unnaturally beneath her and sharp daggers of pain radiated from her shoulder and into her back. In truth, her entire body ached, but whether it was from the trauma of the car wreck or some new injury, she did not know. Regardless, for now, she was still alive; considering her present circumstance, however, that realization did little to reassure her.

Gingerly, Bella tested her muscles, slowly pressing her palms to the rough concrete and pushing her torso upward. She gasped as the knife-like stabbing in her shoulder tore through her chest and down her arm and into her fingertips, forcing her to collapse and shift all of her weight to her right side.

Determined, she vowed silently, _He won't get that satisfaction. He won't hear me scream. _

She sucked in deep breaths through her nose and slowly, the pain weakened and muted to a dull burn. Careful not to jar her shoulder, she rolled and propped herself up on her good elbow. Pausing, she glanced around the space, only to find it empty, devoid of anyone or anything.

It was absolutely silent. There were no voices, no sounds of cars or other evidence of humans. There was nothing but unnerving stillness. But she wasn't foolish enough to think he'd abandoned her here. There was no possible way that James would have gone to so much effort only to leave her.

But she needed to be on her feet. Focusing on the simple task of standing, she cautiously lifted herself to her knees and then finally to her feet. Before she had even a second to process her surroundings, however, she heard his familiar laugh.

"My dear, Isabella," he chuckled, as he walked through the far corner door. "I didn't expect you to wake so soon.

"Thought, I must admit, for a while, I was rather put out with you. You didn't seem to want to come to and you kept murmuring his name over and over. To be honest, it was getting to be a little tiresome."

While his tone and words were meant to instill fear, they resulted in the very opposite. Deep down, she knew she would die, and she was tired of his games. She was angry, livid over the pain and suffering James had caused. So many names she'd read in the papers, heard on the street, listened to on the radio. He and his band had killed so many innocents.

Bloodied images of her mother and father and Jacob flashed across her vision. She could see her mother's bruised body spread out across steel table in the morgue. She could hear her father's voice telling her he loved her that final time over the phone. Her lungs sucked in air, only to smell the copper scent of Jacob's blood. It was so real that she could feel its slick, wet texture coating her bare skin. She could taste it on her tongue.

And then she heard the sound of Edward's neck cleaving, she saw his body, and she felt his mangled flesh beneath her fingertips. It was the purest form of torture, extreme in a way James would never be able to mimic through physical torment. It caused her blood to boil; she could hear her own heartbeat thumping in her ears.

"Where are we? Why did you bring me here? Why didn't you just end it on the side of the road?" she snapped.

"Isabella, tsk, tsk!" he crooned mockingly. "You sound upset! I don't know if I like your tone."

"Go to hell," she growled.

Before she could take her next breath, he was suddenly inches from her face. His hand roughly grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Even in the low light, Bella could see the deep red hue to his irises; they were chilling and full of malice. His eyes told her the truth; he would not hesitate to drink her dry, and he would draw it out as long as possible. He would relish her agony.

His touch was ice cold, and his fingers dug painfully into her flesh. But she shoved those feelings away, knowing that that was what he wanted. He wanted her fear and her pain. As long as she could, she swore to herself that she would not give in, would not give him that pleasure.

"My dear, it won't be me going to hell. At least not tonight. Cullen, on the other hand…"

"What did you do to him? Leave him alone! He took your Alice and now you're taking me. What else is there?" she spat.

James sighed in irritation, his icy breath rolling across her skin, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. His fingers tensed and tightened once more, and his lips peeled back into a vicious sneer. Reflecting and catching the light, the venom coating his teeth shone and gleamed. Briefly, Bella wondered how badly it would really hurt; she knew whatever he had planned for her would be excruciating.

"Oh, it's so much more than that now. Don't you see, Isabella? It's his very existence, the very essence of who he is. He is nothing but a hypocrite, a weakling who denies his very nature. They all do. That whole, wretched _family_ of his is an embarrassment to the species.

"And yes, he took what was mine, what I can only have once. He took her and hid her away. He stole _my_ blood. _Mine_. Do you understand that? She was _mine._ And now, she's nothing, a waste.

"In my world, there is no greater offense. I won't just take you, my pet. I won't just kill you and drink you. I'll make you _both _suffer before I destroy him."

His voice shifted to an almost delighted singsong. "Because you know, he is coming for you. That was the plan all along. He would never be able to resist coming after you; I know him far, far too well. And when he arrives, I'll incapacitate him just as I've done before. You should have seen what I did to him twenty years ago," he said almost wistfully.

"And then, he'll… _watch _and hear your cries. Maybe, I'll even give him a little taste of you... so that he can see what he forewent. But we'll take our time, have no worry about that. I'd never rush this. For eight decades, I've been waiting."

With a cruel smile and a wink, he continued his rant, "After I'm done with him, I'll go back for those two lovely women you managed to temporarily save with your little distraction."

His words shook Bella to the core, turning her blood to ice. She felt as cold as his touch. Fear, fear for Edward and his family laced and weaved with her fury, and she scrambled for some way to alter his course.

_Kill me now,_ she begged. _Then, Edward… he can escape from here. He can come back with the rest of them and chase James down. He won't have to endure what James has planned. He won't sacrifice himself for me. _

The thought of Edward facing James again, all alone, at the risk of death and worse, was too much to handle, more than her sanity would allow.

"How would you like to die, Isabella? Where would you like my teeth?" he purred, as his free hand came up and traced the column of her throat.

"Here?" he whispered, pausing at her pulse point.

His finger drifted down over the thin cotton of her shirt, settling between her breasts. "Or here, at your heart? That would be ironic, no? Piercing both your literal and figurative heart at once?"

Her heart pounded in her chest as he traced lower. With exaggerated slowness, he ghosted across her belly and leaned in. "Or perhaps, lower. You know, it can take so long to bleed out from a gut wound. And they are so painful. I hear that there is nothing like it."

"But I suppose I'd never be able to contain myself," he mused. "You must know how divine you smell. While you are no _Alice_, you are so mouthwateringly sweet. Floral somehow. God, Cullen was a fool not to take you."

When his hand continued its downward descent toward her inner thigh, tracing the path she recognized to be her femoral artery, she shuddered, and the heat of her anger resurfaced.

"Kill me, you bastard. Just do it now!" she yelled, shaking from both terror and fury.

Trying to pull away from his iron grasp, she jerked her head back and spat in his face. Knowing it was a fruitless effort, she lifted her uninjured arm and punched with all her strength, targeting his chest.

Of course, he was so much faster and easily swatted her hand away with an amused chuckle. But he released her, shoving her until her backbone hit the wall with a dull thud. He wiped her saliva from his cheek with an entertained smirk. Almost casually, he then turned and walked to the center of the garage, glaring up at the exposed i-beams spanning the ceiling.

"My, my, you are so feisty. You really have no idea what you are asking, do you? _Pain_, Isabella. Pain is what I will give you. If I were you, I would not be so impatient. I think you will change your mind very soon."

Still backed up against the wall, in her near periphery, Bella noted a small cabinet to her right with open drawers. Once, it had been an old tool chest; she could still see the greasy outlines of wrenches and ratchets staining the black drawer liners. It was empty but for scattered papers and debris. And a small rubber-gripped screwdriver.

While it would do nothing to his skin, offer no defense whatsoever, the tip would easily pierce hers with little force. His words resounded in her ears.

_But I suppose I'd never be able to contain myself. You must know how divine you smell. _

James was still gazing upward as she silently reached across and grabbed the small tool.

_It ends now,_ she resolved, hoping that his words were true, that he would not be able to resist her spilt blood. With what strength she could muster, Bella lifted her injured arm, grimacing at the sharp twinges running down her ribs. Slowly, she flipped it over, exposing the smooth, pale skin covering the inside of her forearm.

Pressing the tip to her skin, she prayed a silent prayer and murmured a soft goodbye.

_I love you, Edward_, she chanted, as she pushed the tip down beneath the thin veil of flesh and then dragged it up her arm.

For a moment, everything was still. Thick, viscous beads of crimson bubbled up and rolled down her arm, dripping off her fingertip and onto the floor in heavy splats. Her heart thudded an irregular, pounding rhythm, and she gasped from the unexpected fire in her arm.

Bella dizzily glanced up and found James staring at her wide-eyed and bewildered. Suddenly, his chest began heaving, and his nostrils flared. A deep, low snarl ripped out from his chest as his expression transformed into that of a feral beast, a hungry predator seeing its weakened prey.

"Come get me, James," she whispered.

* * *

_**April 19, 2009  
10:14 pm  
Somewhere in the forest north of the Cullen family home, Forks, Washington**_

As he ran, he thought of nothing but reaching her. Everything else was lost in a blur of shadowy blacks and grays and greens and browns. By instinct and in blind rage, he ran, forcing his body to its absolute maximum in speed. His velocity was unprecedented, so fast that his own senses had difficulties keeping pace.

With perfect clarity, his mind saw only her, _his _Bella, the entire and singular purpose of his long existence, the only reason he had for it to continue. As if she were physically there beside him, he could see the way her eyes flickered in amusement when she cut through his pretenses, the way they gleamed when she questioned him without hesitation, the way they had flashed when _she_ had confronted _him_ with alarming bravery that day at the store. He could see them wide and innocent, accepting and forgiving. He could see the way they stared unflinchingly into his, knowing all his darkest secrets and demons, knowing _him._

He watched her lips curl up into the shy smile that had branded his soul. Over and over, he replayed that smile, her expression as she looked up at him, mirroring the adoration that consumed his entire being.

Her bouquet filled his lungs; he could smell her as acutely as if he were holding her in his arms. His mind knew every shade and aroma that blended to make up the finest wine he'd ever encountered, that ambrosial perfection that sang to him. Her heartbeat, the rhythm that he could pinpoint a mile away, thundered in his memories, vibrating and echoing through his dead veins.

His fingertips burned, remembering the warmth of her skin and the softness of her curves. He could feel her moist lips pressed against his, and his scalp prickled at the memory of her slender fingers wound in his hair. He could feel her body molded around him, quivering as they joined.

_I have to make it in time. She cannot die; she is all that matters,_ he whimpered.

A mile away from the house, he focused his mind and listened for any signs of Bella or his family, for any sign that they had not left as they'd all planned. When he heard nothing, he pressed on. He knew James would go there first, that he would follow their flight.

As he crossed the drive, he caught the faint but persistent odor of exhaust and kicked up earth and gravel. But more importantly, he caught James's scent. He'd followed their trail. Without slowing, Edward turned and raced on, trying desperately to make up for his delay. James would be several minutes ahead, and if he pressed, he could catch up to their vehicle.

When he'd almost reached the main county road, he heard cries, both mental and audible. They were high-pitched sopranos, smooth and musical, even in their pain. He knew these voices. And their tenor hit him like a brick wall.

His footfalls faltered, slowing his gait. A loud, keening whine bubbled up from his chest and echoed in the night. His chest suddenly felt swollen and bloated, as if he were about to explode. Anguish, pure, unadulterated anguish, theirs and his, flooded his mind.

_Edward! He has her! He hit the truck. I'm so sorry; we couldn't outrun him,_ Esme sobbed.

_No!_ he screamed. _Not her. Not yet!_

Rationally, he knew James wanted to be found, that he would wait to… kill her. They were back to playing the game they'd played many times before: James's sadistic sport of 'find the girl before I kill her'.

Edward gulped, trying to force down the expanding knot at the base of his throat as he focused and tried to glean what he could from his family. By concentrating on them, he battled the desolation that threatened to overtake him and knock him to the ground.

Rosalie's thoughts were far less coherent than Esme's, and he recognized why immediately. Through Esme's eyes, he saw the damage that James had inflicted. Rosalie's blonde hair was matted and dirty, and her skin was caked with debris. Jagged gashes stretched across her upper body, and there was a gaping crescent-shaped wound at her neck. Her knee and hip were warped outward.

Her mind was riddled with pain, but the few sparks of lucidity told him that Esme was in only slightly better shape. They had clearly put up a fierce fight, but despite outnumbering him, they had had far too little training and did not have the strength to fight him off. He was too strong and too cunning.

_Bella_, Rosalie murmured. _Find her, Edward. Please. I don't want to lose her either. _

_We'll be fine. Just go! _Esme intoned, demanding that he run on.

Hearing Esme's voice stabbed at his conscience. _How do I explain to her that Carlisle has been lost? That her mate, her soulmate, no longer walks this earth? That he died at the hands of my enemy, not his? All because of what I did so many years ago. How can she ever forgive me? How can any of them ever forgive me?_

But those were thoughts on which he could not afford to dwell. Were he to allow himself to think about that, coupled with the crippling despair he was already fighting, he would surely collapse. _Afterward_, he would face any and all consequences. And if Bella no longer breathed… his decision was already made. He knew that he was too weak to be without her. If James succeeded in killing her, he had little reason to fight back.

Blindly, he followed James's scent, now coupled with the scent he knew better than his own. As he passed the mangled remains of their SUV, he forced himself to repress the anxiety that wanted to blossom. He told himself over and over that Bella's blood had not been shed. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Minutes seemed like hours, but he did not slow. Chasing her perfume, he cut back through the trees, extending his strides into long, reckless leaps, bounding over logs and streams, clipping trees and limbs as he flew. Heedless, he whirred past seldom-visited cabins and campsites; no human eyes could hope to follow his flight. Again, his surroundings blurred into nothing but streaking colors and distorted sounds. Scenery merged with scenery; his only guide was smell.

With no hesitation or deceleration, he broke through the tree line outside of Port Angeles onto the main highway. If people were present, it did not matter. If cars or trucks crossed his path, it did not matter. His feet slammed into the pavement with inhuman force, and he felt the surface give beneath his weight, no doubt leaving behind permanent evidence of his footrace.

As he approached the old warehouse district, signs of humanity waned. The asphalt was still wet from an early-evening scattered shower, and the orange glow from the few streetlamps glared back at him. This section of town was virtually abandoned; the streets were empty and dark, only populated by dated automobiles meeting with other dated automobiles, most likely for unseemly business. The bitter odors of rotted human food and waste swirled in the air, tinged with smoke and industrial pollutants.

But her scent was so strong; he was so very close. He strained his ears, searching for her telltale rhythmic thump and James's malevolent thoughts amongst the streaming voices of the town.

_Damned human girl! Does she really think she can fight me? Does she think her pitiable attempts are more than a gnat's buzz to me? Foolish girl. Why, oh, why do I wait? She is delectable after all and I am so thirsty. . _

And then, his voice rang out, hissing and spitting with contempt.

"My, my, you are so feisty. You really have no idea what you are asking, do you? _Pain_, Isabella. Pain is what I will give you. If I were you, I would not be so impatient. I think you will change your mind very soon."

And then silence.

His head whipped around toward the direction he'd heard James's voice. To the right, down the vacant service alley, Edward saw it. An old concrete and cinderblock garage, a remnant of the early 1950s, jutted out between its neighboring boarded up buildings. It was dark and deserted, isolated and hidden from the main roads.

"Come get me, James," he heard her say.

"NO!" he bellowed, as he sped toward the building.

James's mind was suddenly filled with raging bloodlust and was almost unintelligible. But his intent was clear. Edward had seconds at most. Her heartbeat suddenly exploded in his ears and jolted his body, pulling him forward.

Unthinkingly, with a primal roar, he barreled through the nearest bay door, sending a wide swath of splintering wood and broken glass. As soon as he cleared the space, Edward's eyes immediately searched and trained to James's crouched form standing in the center of the garage. Their gaze met for but a fraction of a second. James's irises were pitch black and wild, as if he'd been caught mid-hunt. His spine was bent low, ready to pounce, and his hands were twitching and curled.

Bella's scream tore through the air and Edward's eyes shot to her. She was leaning against the side wall, one arm clutching the other. Her expression was a mask of terror and pain and shock. And then, he saw the rivulets of scarlet trailing down her forearm and dripping into a small red pool on the dirtied floor. The air was saturated with _her_. But all he could think of was that he was not too late; she was alive. And she _would _stay that way as long as he was still standing.

James's growl ripped through the empty space, pulling Edward's attention away from Bella. James's motions and stance belied his instinctual debate: to take down his prey or to defend his prey. He turned slightly, facing Edward.

He hissed through clenched teeth, "Cullen, I see you did make it. Isabella and I were just talking about you."

Edward watched James's blackened eyes madly flicker back and forth between him and Bella. His bloodlust was still strong, but some coherency surfaced. He wanted the fight; James wanted nothing more than Edward's destruction. Everything, even his own instincts, came second.

Coldly, flatly almost, Edward snapped, "You will not have her, James. She is mine. You will never have her; you will never touch her."

He stood stark still, watching every fidget and movement, listening for James's intentions, waiting for any sign. In the back of his mind, Jasper's words and visions played, still coaching him.

_Attack first, surprise him. Don't wait to defend. Take him out quickly and painfully. Knees, hamstrings, back, throat. Don't give him a chance to rise again. No mercy_, Jasper's clipped voice lectured.

"That's where you are wrong, Cullen. You can't defeat me. You were never strong enough. You were just lucky. But now? Look at you. You're weak and wounded. And me? I have more than enough to take you down. I'm better than you. Face it. I will win and I will suck that perfumed wench dry."

Fury reigned king, overtaking everything else. Edward's body hummed with white-hot wrath in the name of all of them, the women James had killed before, Carlisle, Esme, and more than anything else, for the torture to which he had subjected Bella. Her words and command were like a whip, cracking and scarring his mind and flesh.

As in the field, brilliant, pulsing red painted Edward's vision as he listened to James's thoughts and watched the gruesome scenes he had plotted. The acts he envisioned were… brutal and nauseating in their vibrancy and detail. The tortures that he had planned were bloody and atrocious, aimed at delivering as much physical torment as possible. As Edward listened, unrelenting, cold hatred coursed through him, unfathomable in its depths. Nothing remained but sheer, icy determination.

_Kill him. Make him suffer for me._

In a blurred rush, Edward darted forward, arms outstretched in attack. His body hurtled across the garage seemingly driven solely by rage and emotion. But it was pretense; knowing James's skills, Edward honed in on James's thoughts, waiting for the minute signs of intent. Just before he struck, James's thoughts gave away his counter. When he sidestepped to the left, Edward suddenly was there, too. With an ear-splitting crack, his fists connected with James's ribcage.

Their momentum knocked both to the floor with a spray of shattered concrete debris. Edward's fingers curled and gripped onto James's shoulders just as he shifted his weight, sending them rolling into a nearby steel support. At impact, the building shook and groaned, and cracks danced up the metal beam.

Almost instantly they were upright again, and Edward immediately attacked. His foot planted into James's thigh just as he grappled with his forearms. Edward spun on his heel, whipping his hips around and pulling James along through the air. At the apex of his arc, Edward released him, slinging him across the room and into a stack of metal cabinets. Clanging and screeching metal reverberated and bounced off the walls as he crashed.

Before Edward could turn, James was back on his feet and sprinting toward him. Edward raced forward to meet him, but just before collision, he leaped up, twisting and arching his back mid-air, skirting over James's assault. As James passed underneath, Edward reached down and latched onto him by the arms and yanked him back. With the abrupt jerk, they both lurched and stumbled to the ground in a jumbled gnarl of limbs and snapping teeth.

Edward's knee crashed into James's hip, knocking it from his socket. James howled in pain and launched himself at Edward's throat, a frenzied, enraged beast. His teeth cut through vampire skin and ripped away chunks of meaty, white flesh. But Edward never ceased his assault. His fists rained down a flurry of blows, targeting James's ribs and gut. His razor-sharp nails sliced open James's skin, leaving wide, gaping gashes.

Edward saw the older, now-healing wounds he'd delivered in the field. Deftly, he jammed his fingers deep into the slashes and pulled the flesh open again with a metallic shriek. James roared and kicked Edward away, sending him skidding across the greased floor. As James's foot connected, Edward felt the give and fracture of his bones and flesh. But any pain was lost in his concentration.

Undaunted and lightning-fast, Edward bolted back up and dashed toward James. Not slowing, he slammed into James, sending him careening through one of the bay doors. Glass shattered and rained down, and wood split and blasted outward.

But James was unfazed and charged back into the building. When he saw Edward crouched low and waiting, he paused and faced off. Slowly, he stalked forward, bent low and ready for attack. They circled, both watching for signs, for any motion or indication. When James feinted left, Edward was a fraction of a second ahead. When he jerked right, Edward was there. Each motion Edward read before it was taken. His eyes never left James's.

Edward whispered, low and seductive, almost hypnotic, "I told you, James. You will not have her. That will never happen."

His arm extended and his fingers curled up and motioned him forward in provocation. "Let's end this, shall we? Your time is through because I _am_ strong enough to kill you."

In that moment, space and time seemed to halt. Edward could see with perfect precision James's intent. He watched the vampire rock forward, and then race across the short span between them. Patient and calculating, Edward remained in place, waiting for the exact moment. A split second before impact, he twisted to the side, and James just brushed his shoulder. Edward whipped around and caught James by the throat, wrenching him to an abrupt, staggering stop. Edward unfurled his tightly wound body and spun, releasing James's throat only to instantaneously come around with a bone-shattering backfist to James's spine.

The sound of James's body breaking resounded in the open space, reverberating and clapping like thunder. He lay contorted and writhing in pain, spitting curses and epithets. In an almost human manner, his chest rose and fell with his shallow pants. With every movement, he grunted and moaned.

_Kill him. Make him suffer for me._

_No mercy. _

Edward's mind was suddenly clouded with black wrath and anguish; ice-cold, determined fury was replaced with hot, seething insanity. A deep, angry growl roared in his chest and he descended on James, attacking him anew. With animalistic ferocity, he tore James's limbs away, cleaving them from their sockets. His nails and teeth ripped into the body, rending the flesh and slashing it to jagged pieces. It was as though his mind were lost, as though all Edward could see were the faces of those James had murdered. All he could hear was Bella sobbing and begging for her father. James's tortured shrieks were lost to his madness.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a quiet and shaking feminine voice, a voice his mind recognized and clung to. "Edward, we're better than this. _You _are better than him."

He looked up and his eyes met Bella's. They were wide and filled with tears, and his motions instantly halted in response.

At the sight of her frightened and pleading, his rage dissipated immediately. He nodded, his mind suddenly clearing. Without breaking their gaze, he reached down and gripped James's head on either side. With a simple twist and jerk, he ended James's screams.

Silently, he rose and numbly gathered James's scattered body parts into a pile. Once he was satisfied that he'd found everything, he reached inside his jeans pocket and located the small lighter he'd carried from the house.

James's body lit up in a blazing ball of fire and plum-black smoke billowed upward and out through the broken glass windows. But he didn't notice. It was over.

He met Bella's stunned gaze and approached her with exaggerated slowness, fearful of scaring her. Her shoulders were hunched forward, and her back was pressed firmly against the cinderblock wall behind her. An old rag was wrapped around her forearm, and her free hand held it tightly. On the floor by her feet was a small screwdriver, its pointed tip stained red. The floor itself was splattered with dark splotches of her still-wet blood. Again, as before, strangely, his mind barely processed the aroma of her perfume. His body recoiled, acknowledging that _she_ was so much more important. He craved _her_, not her blood.

_Surely, she is terrified. But of whom? James? Me? Both?_ he lamented, watching her trembling frame. _This is too much for her._

"Bella?" he murmured softly. "Bella, I won't hurt you. I need to take you away from here. The building will be lost soon and people will arrive. We need to go. I won't touch you if you don't want me to."

While the idea that she would spurn him was painful, a deep swelling of relief filled his being. For the first time in eighty years, the threat of James was gone. _It's over, _he repeated silently.

_But at what price?_ he sighed, fighting the images he needed to stem for just a little bit longer.

Interrupting him, her voice rang out, stuttering and breathy, "You-, are you hurt?"

Her brows were high and arched, and her lips quivered. There was hurt and dread in her words, and wet and gurgling tears marred her normally melodic voice. She sounded almost panicked, and her fear stabbed him in the chest. Again, he begged to hear her thoughts, to know why she sounded so tortured.

"No, Bella. No, I'm not. No more than will heal," he replied, softly and soothingly, trying to assuage her.

He stopped a few feet from her, unsure of what to do. Gently, Edward whispered, "I'm so sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry that you had to see me like that. I'm sorry you had to witness me losing control. I swear, I swear to you that I will not hurt you. I _cannot _hurt you."

But his apologies were cut short by her throwing herself into his chest. His breath caught and his eyes clenched shut as he tightly wrapped his arms around her shaking body. Carefully, Edward lifted her up, almost as one would a child. Bella's slender legs wrapped around his waist, and she buried her face between his shoulder and neck while her uninjured hand fisted his shirt. For a moment, all he could do was hold her, feeling her warmth and softness. Her heartbeat thrummed, echoing through her body and into his. His body vibrated to her cadence, and his lungs greedily sucked in her essence. A low burn in his throat ignited, and he nearly laughed.

The smell of charring vampire flesh reminded Edward that they had to exit the building quickly. He murmured into her hair, and Bella responded with a garbled acknowledgment. Swiftly, but careful not to jostle her injured arm, he carried her out into the dark streets of Port Angeles.

As he walked, he felt her lips peppering hot, moist kisses along his neck, and he heard her sighs. Some emotion, or some mixture of emotions boiled inside of him, and he gasped from its intensity. It was relief and joy mixed with the all-encompassing love he felt only for her. But buried beneath was angst and sorrow, knowing that the joy he felt had been borne from suffering and death.

Blocks away from the burning building, he stopped and leaned against a crumbling brick wall. Bella lifted her head and met his gaze; her skin was dirty and streaked from her tears. Sudden exhaustion overtook him and he sank, sliding down the wall, holding her in his lap. Desperately, he threaded his fingers into her hair, holding her face between his hands. For a long moment, they stared, neither willing to break or look away.

Her features inexplicably relaxed and her eyes warmed, glinting in the low light from the nearby streetlamp. Like tinkling bells, her voice sang, "It's over now?"

He could only mouth a simple 'yes' before her lips crashed into his. But this kiss was different than all the others before. This kiss was hot and messy, filled and fraught with emotion that neither could express in any other way. Frantically almost, their tongues twined and their hands clutched and explored, as if they were testing reality. He palmed her back beneath her shirt, running his hands up and down her bare skin, memorizing its silken texture and gradation. Wanting more, more contact, more warmth, more _her_, he pulled her body as close as physically possible, aligning their chests. Her heat flooded him, her fire to his ice.

Her fingers pawed at his chest through the fabric as she sighed against his mouth. As if in baptismal cleansing, her breath washed over him, and he felt the soothing stillness of peace and solace that only her presence could grant.

And for those moments, all else fell away in a dark, hazy blur. There was only her.


	27. Aftermath

**_April 20, 2009_**  
_**2:07 am  
Port Angeles, Washington**_

Seconds bled into minutes, which in turn, bled into hours. In the early morning, the streets were dark and wet, shining in the low lamplight. Shadows crept by, weaving between buildings and sliding up and down walls. Blue and red flashing lights danced across the pavement, illuminating shapes and outlines.

Despite the dampness of the night, it was almost warm; the blazing building had taken hours to douse, and the heat from the fire had radiated out blocks from the source. They had watched, silent and immobile, as red-hot flames licked upward into the night and dark, almost purple smoke twisted and curled. The distant shouts of men and the blare of sirens cut through the silence, echoing and bouncing against concrete and asphalt.

Bella inhaled deeply, taking comfort in the clean smell that she knew only as Edward. More than anything in that moment, his scent granted her peace and serenity, despite the stench of greasy smoke tainting the air. For as her lungs greedily sucked him in, Bella felt whole and well; she felt strong and content.

The adrenaline had long since been spent, and she was left exhausted. Her shoulder ached and her arm throbbed; every time she moved it, her skin snagged and tore. Yet none of that registered as more than nuisance. And when Edward tried to convince her to let him take her away, she refused. Because nothing felt better than his arms wrapped tightly around her body, holding her as close as physically possible. Hidden amidst the chaos and clamor, they sat there in the dark for an indeterminable amount of time, neither willing to end their moment of reunion. They simply sat, holding each other, just breathing and touching, just being. No words were said for none were needed.

Beneath her, Edward was still but for the rise and fall of his chest and the gentle stroking of his hand through her hair. Tucked between his shoulder and chin, she couldn't see his expression, but she knew that his eyes were closed, just like hers.

"What are you thinking about?" she whispered, knowing he would hear.

"You," he murmured, the hand resting on her hip gripping more tightly. "Always, you."

"I was so scared, Edward," she admitted, her voice cracking as his name passed her lips.

"Shh, Bella. I know. But he can't hurt you now," he said softly, soothingly. The hand in her hair tenderly cupped her head, and she felt his lips press against her forehead.

Her intact arm snaked around his neck. "Not for me. I was scared for you. I couldn't bear the thought of you suffering. It hurt too much."

"Is that why you cut yourself? To provoke him?"

"He was planning terrible things. But then, I suppose you know all that, don't you? I'm sure you saw it. I couldn't allow that. I couldn't stand the thought of him torturing you," she whispered against his cool flesh, as she winced in remembrance.

She felt him take a sharp, deep breath, and his chest shuddered slightly. He said nothing other than, "It's over."

"Is it? What will we do?"

She couldn't bring herself to say Carlisle's name. When he had told her what had happened in the field, a thick, salty lump had formed in her throat and her sorrow ballooned. Bella knew, with too-vivid awareness, what it felt like to lose a parent, to lose two, really. She'd felt the ripping agony, the endless despair, the sense of utter hopelessness. She had felt the earth shift and tilt; she knew what it was to experience loss. While Edward was a century old and while Carlisle was not his biological father, there was no doubt in her mind that Edward's grief would be just as stabbing and just as vast.

_Probably more so_, she thought, recognizing that in addition to his own, he would take in all of their anguish, including Esme's. He would hear every word, every cry, and every curse.

"I don't know. I don't know what they will say. They may tell me to leave. I-, I just don't know. Being alone serves me right. I deserve it, Bella," he rasped, his voice nearly choked with building pain.

"No, Edward," she corrected, placing two fingers across his lips. "You won't be alone. No matter what."

"How can you say that? How can you still want to be with me? How can you love me? It's my fault, Bella. All of it. All of those women. Jacob. Carlisle._ Your _mother and father," he cried, throwing his head back against the wall. Yet his arms only tightened, as if he feared she would leap up and sprint away. She knew that were she to do so, he would let her.

His words sent shards of fresh anguish through her chest and deep down into the pit of her stomach. The wounds were still so fresh; the memory of her father was bright and burning. Stinging, hot tears threatened to spill over anew.

Clenching her eyes tightly shut, her hand drifted and palmed his jaw. "Stop, please. For me, Edward. I can't hear this. I can't hear you take it all on yourself again. It hurts; I'll never deny that. So much. But I'm not angry with you. I won't blame you. I told you that I forgave you your past mistakes, and I have. My father's death and my mother's death were at James's hand. Not yours. You paid for your mistakes. So many times, you've paid.

"When I said that I wanted you always, I meant it. With everything in me, I meant it and I mean it now. Though everything else has changed, that has not. Always, Edward. Always, you," she said, repeating his words.

For a moment, Edward didn't respond in any way. His body was rigid, frozen; even the hand in her hair had paused. His stillness frightened her. Just as she was getting ready to speak, to ask him to respond in some way, Bella heard his breathing pick up in pace and become shallow and erratic. Minutely, she felt his shoulders begin to shake until they were both quaking. When the dry, heaving sobs took over, her heart broke for him as she acknowledged the grief suddenly pouring out from him through the only outlet his stone body allowed. Just as he had done for her before, all she could do was cling to him and whisper words of solace she prayed he would hear.

* * *

_**April 20, 2009  
6:36 am  
Somewhere near Forks, Washington**_

She awoke to a soft crunching sound, something that reminded her of gravel. There was movement, too, a gentle forward motion coupled with a slight side to side sway. Before risking a glance, she listened intently, and in the background, she heard the dull hum of a quiet engine. Beneath her, she felt slick, cool leather, and her head was resting on something, a small pillow, or perhaps a bunched up shirt or piece of fabric.

When she didn't feel the icy hardness she expected, she started, wrenching her eyes open and moving to sit up. Pale, tangerine light streamed across her vision, momentarily stunning and blinding her.

"Wha-, Edward?"

"It's alright, Bella. We're almost home," she heard Edward whisper in her ear. Cold fingers ghosted across her skin and lightly traced her lips. At his reassuring contact, her body relaxed.

Taking in her surroundings, she realized that they were in a car, most likely Edward's Volvo. Turning her head, she noticed that Alice and Jasper were in the front seats, silently looking forward, and that Edward was with her in the back.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked quietly. The last thing she recalled was holding Edward's shaking body as tightly as she could and then, finally, after what had to have been hours, him slowly stilling in her arms. Then, there was nothing. For all she knew, she could have been asleep for minutes or for days. And she really wasn't sure where home would be. Were they returning to their home in Forks or somewhere else?

"Less than an hour. Alice and Jasper picked us up in Port Angeles after I called."

She nodded as she cautiously lifted herself. Through the windows, Bella could see the same trees and forest lining their drive, the same trees she'd raced by only hours prior in their flight. Then, it had been so dark, the blackest of night. Yet now, in the faint glow of the morning sun, everything looked different. The landscape was dull and washed out, but there _was_ life and there _was_ color. And with the sun's rising there was the promise of more.

When the car came to a halt, she gingerly threaded her fingers through his and followed him to the door. While Edward's face was outwardly serene, his posture and his rigidity belied his calm. Were he to have one, his pulse would be racing. He was fearful and anxious. Bella wasn't sure she wanted to know the thoughts he was hearing.

When they reached the door, he hesitated and his expression transformed into one of outright despair. His eyes snapped shut, and his hand paused on the handle. Gently, she tugged on his arm and pulled him through the door, instinctively understanding that he needed _her_ strength.

Inside the house, everything was just as it had been left. Soft light filtered through the tall front windows, bathing the cream and ivory furnishings. The air was cooler inside and it smelled fresh and clean.

But one thing was different. In the center of the living room, on the long pale couch, lay Esme. Her shoulders were hunched forward and her body was curled up tightly into a protective ball. She looked weak and frail, as though all the life in her had been drained. The unnecessary blanket covering her shook with the same tearless cries Edward had shed. Bella understood immediately why Esme was there and not upstairs. Being alone in _their_ room with his smell and his presence would be unbearable.

"Go," Bella whispered, motioning to Edward.

His ancient, sad eyes looked down at her and his thumb grazed her lower lip. There was so much agony in his eyes; at that moment, she would have done anything to take it away.

From behind her, Bella felt a smaller hand, one just as chilled as Edward's, tentatively reach out to grip her palm, and she allowed Alice to pull her toward the staircase. As she ascended the steps, Bella looked back and watched as Edward walked over to his mother's trembling form. The last thing she saw was him crumpling to his knees and tipping forward to lay his head on the cushion beside her. Once more, her heart shattered for him. And for Esme.

Upstairs, she allowed Alice to help her undress and cleanse her body. She was numb, tired, and spent emotionally, as well as physically. When she looked at Alice's angular features, she saw the same pain she had seen in Edward. All of them had lost so much. _Will we heal? Can we?_ she wondered sadly.

"Rosalie?" Bella asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

Alice smiled a small reassuring smile and answered, "She's in pain but she'll be okay. As you've seen, we heal quickly. In a day or so, you'll never know anything happened."

She frowned slightly. "Emmett's with her now down the hall in their room. Since we found them, he hasn't left her side for a second. I think he is worse off than she is. Rose is a tough woman. Emmett is… vulnerable. He's lost without her."

Bella understood him. For hadn't she responded the same? When Edward was unconscious and broken, the mere mention of leaving him was too painful to even consider. Their lives were so intricately woven together; when one hurt, both hurt.

"Esme?" she timidly breathed, her voice hesitant and shaky.

The small smile was replaced by a tightening jaw and creased brows. Alice nodded her head, but Bella could see the hard swallow that accompanied the gesture. For Esme, the physical damage was nothing in comparison to the pain of Carlisle's absence. Her breath caught in her chest; she could only imagine if their situations were reversed. If she were in Esme's place, could she survive? _Would I want to? Could I bear that level of agony?_ She didn't think so.

"What happened in the field, Alice? Edward told me so little, only about Carlisle. Are they all… dead?"

"All but one," Alice answered, her expression suddenly seething. Bella could see her fists clenching and releasing, trying to rein in her emotion.

"The young ones had little chance, and Jasper took care of Laurent. The woman, Victoria, she escaped. I almost had her," she continued, her voice hard and filled with fury. Alice's gaze unfocused and she stared at the wall.

"But I hurt her. Yes, I hurt her. It will take her _weeks_ to recover, if ever."

"Will she come back? Will she follow us?" Bella choked, her heart suddenly thundering in her ears.

Alice's expression softened, but her voice was still hard and cold. "I hope so."

* * *

_**April 20, 2009  
8:58 pm  
**__**The Cullen family home, eight miles north of Forks, Washington State**_

Wearily, he climbed the stairs. His steps were sluggish, heavy with fatigue. While his body felt nothing more than the faint hint of soreness, that stinging pang that told him that his body's wounds were almost healed, his mind was cloudy and thick with exhaustion and pain. Mentally, he was near his breaking point.

Despite Jasper's emotional intervention, the sheer anguish that had flooded him from the moment they walked through the door was staggering and immeasurable in its depth. All of them, Rosalie, Emmett, Alice, and Jasper, all of them were still reeling with the knowledge that their leader, their father for all intents and purposes, was… gone. Their thoughts were jumbled and disjointed, filled with longing and sorrow.

Stepping across the threshold, where he could smell his creator's scent so clearly, the drowning pain he'd felt in Bella's arms returned. It stabbed and twisted in his gut. It felt like the world had stopped spinning on its axis, like life could not go on. His maker, his father, his friend no longer breathed. No more were their philosophical discussions; no more were their hunting trips. No more was the completeness and wholeness of their family. Their family had been broken.

But his family's and his grief paled in comparison to Esme's. The love between vampire mates was profound, bone deep, and limitless. To sever that tie was no less than the pain of physical amputation. It was permanent, something that would never completely heal no matter how many millennia passed.

His arms would forever recall the feel of her wrenching sobs. His eyes would forever see her face mangled and distorted with pain. And his flawless memory would recall the tenor and misery of his mother's voice for all time. For the rest of his existence, into perpetuity, some part of him would relive her ache. And some part of her would forever mourn her loss.

When he had crossed the room and fallen to his knees by her side, he had been prepared for anything she might give him. He was prepared to be sent away, he was prepared for her blows; he was prepared for words of hatred, of anger, and of derision. He had expected loathing, abhorrence, and guilt. He wanted it.

What he had not been prepared for was her slender fingers winding through his hair, stroking his scalp. What he had not been prepared for was her clinging to him, borrowing what little strength he retained, and then, returning some of her own. He had been prepared for blame, but instead was granted forgiveness. _That_ had been what had crushed him: her pardoning, the absolution for which he would have never asked. He didn't deserve her forgiveness. But she had granted it to him freely and without reservation. There was nothing but love and sorrow in her thoughts.

How he did not understand, but in her mind, he remained her son, Carlisle's progeny. And together, mother and son, they had grieved for what had occurred, for what was, and for what would never be again. _This_ was Carlisle's footprint on the world: compassion and love and the capacity to forgive no matter the greatness of the sin.

For the second time in so short a period of time, Edward felt his being, his soul, shift and alter. What he had spurned and half-believed before became truth. For the first time in his century of half-life, he truly believed, understood, and accepted the words he'd heard so many times before.

_We are who we choose to be, Edward. I choose to live above base physical wants. I refuse to see myself as a simple animal, a creature that feeds and lives only to survive. I strive for goodness, to ease the pain of those around me. I have the power to help, not condemn. You can see our nature as a curse or as something with which to do great things. Or at least beneficial things._

_We all have burdens to bear. How you bear that burden is the sum of who you are and is the basis by which you are judged._

When he reached the entry to his bedroom, Edward paused and gazed upon the form that touched him beyond all else, the one thing, the one person, who could reach through his ache.

She was sleeping still, lying on her side facing the door. The loud, resounding thuds of her heart echoed in his ears, singing through his veins. Staring at the rich gold bedspread draped across her, he watched her body rise and fall with her even breaths, the same breaths that saturated the small space and coated everything in the room. Involuntarily, he filled his lungs with perfumed air. Again and again, he gulped, taking comfort in the familiar burn.

_So beautiful_, he exhaled, as his eyes trained to her face.

Across the pillow, her dark hair was wild and splayed out. Her skin was smooth and clear, lightly dusted with a pale pink. Her lips were slightly parted, formed into a peaceful smile. He envied her in sleep. He longed to join her in her dreams. He longed to kiss her and hold her as a human, as something other than what he was. But that was unattainable, so he settled for what he could have, what he could not live without.

Edward quietly padded across the room, walking around to the other side of the bed. He paused but for moment before climbing onto the mattress beside her. Careful not to wake her, he slid across the bedspread, keeping the fabric between them, protecting her from his chill.

While sleep was out of his reach, an impossibility, in that moment, he needed to be with her, to feel her. He needed her as much as she had ever needed him. He needed to feel her body aligned with his, to feel her warmth and softness. He needed to feel the hum, that tangible thrum of their lives touching. Overcome with emotion and simple longing, he gently wrapped his arm around her waist and curled around her. His eyes slid shut as he buried his nose in her hair.

A moment later, he felt her fingers sliding across his bare arm, following the lines of his veins. She breathed deeply, and he felt her stir against him.

"Don't turn over. Your shoulder," he murmured, holding her in place.

But she would have none of it, and he relented when she moved to turn to her back. As their eyes met, she reached up and traced the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Edward," Bella whispered. "What can I do to ease your pain?"

"You do already," he said softly before touching his lips to hers.


	28. Hope

_**May 1, 2009**_  
_**7:21 am**_  
_**Somewhere along the northern shore of Great Bear Lake, Northwest Territories, Canada**_

Sunlight bounced off the frozen lake, shimmering and refracting a thousand colors. It was so vast, so wide, that when she looked out across, all she could see was bright, glimmering white meeting vibrant, almost electric, cerulean on the horizon. Miles away, the distant shore was beyond the limitations of her human sight. To her eyes, the white, glassy plain was endless.

Despite near constant daylight, it was frigid outside, and the chill wind whipped across the bluff. But the air was clean and fresh, untainted and unpolluted by man. It smelled of pine, earth, snow, and there was a hint of woodsy smoke drifting from their cabin's chimney. Here, there was true stillness and quiet; only the sounds of the wind, a smattering of chirping birds, and her own breathing reached her ears. Here, it was possible to believe that they were truly alone.

They sat side by side, perched on top of a rocky outcropping overlooking the lake. The sheer rock wall was startling in its height, but more so in the way the earth seemed to fall away beneath them. It was impossible not to admire the scenery; unable to look away, her marveling gaze traveled up and along the shoreline, taking in the rough, glacier worn cut of the land. For a long while, they said nothing, instead, simply sitting in companionable silence, staring at natural beauty so few would ever see.

Buried deep in multiple layers of down and fleece, she didn't feel cold, but every time she breathed out, clouds of steam floated and dissipated through the air. Glancing over, she couldn't help but to notice that Edward's breath, however, was invisible, matching their frozen surroundings.

It had been more than a week since they had left Forks to head north into Canada. As they'd driven away, while it was never said, Bella knew that they would never return. Once, Edward had told her that, on occasion, the Cullens returned to cities and places they loved, always making sure that enough time had lapsed so they would not be recognized. But Forks held too many memories, too many ghosts. There was nothing but pain and devastation there.

Just as Edward had physically healed before, so had Esme and Rosalie. The moment they were well enough to travel, Rosalie had insisted that they depart. She had given some rambling reasoning but everyone knew it was pretense. Everyone knew that being in their home where Carlisle had been and where his mark was so plainly seen and felt was just too much. So, when she asked to leave, there had been no arguments.

Outwardly, Esme seemed to fare far better than Bella had predicted. She sat upright the day after she and Edward had made their peace. She had offered some semblance of a half smile when Emmett had made a joke. She had even gone hunting on her own when they crossed the border. But each time their eyes met, Bella could see the truth. She could see the tremendous sorrow and weight, the flatness, the despair.

But then, they were all still grieving. And they would be for how long Bella didn't know. Had she not mourned for months over her mother? Was she still not grieving for her father? She wasn't sure how her human experiences carried over into the vampire world. With never-ending time, Bella wondered what lay in store.

Her eyes flickered over to Edward's still form. He was bent at the waist, looking down, his gaze trained somewhere below them. His elbows lightly rested on his knees, and his hands were clasped firmly together, almost as if he were deep in prayer. Unlike her, he was not wrapped in coats and fabric. His sleeves were pushed up exposing his pearl-white skin. It was so pale and so unyielding, like freshly polished marble. It was almost as if she were looking at a statue, like a man carved from stone. The only part of him that moved was his wild bronze hair whipping back and forth in the wind.

While she couldn't see his expression, she knew the one she would see. Since they had left, she had yet to see him smile. And at night when she slept, he crawled into bed with her and held onto her like a child holding onto his mother, afraid of the unknown. Every morning, she awoke to his eyes soft and pleading, asking for what she didn't know.

"Will she be okay?" Bella asked quietly. In the stillness, just a whisper carried and echoed.

Edward looked up and met her gaze. His eyes were honeyed amber with only a tinge of red circling the irises remaining. Softly, he asked, "What do you mean?"

Bella took a deep breath, feeling the cold air stab her lungs. "Esme, is she… will she survive?"

Because that was the question that had plagued her mind. Before, Edward had explained the concept of vampire mates. The connection was deeper, more profound, more tying than most human relationships. They were soul mates in the truest sense. And for the past week, she'd questioned, _If one died, could the other survive?_

Edward's eyes bored into hers and then quickly glanced away, focusing on something off over her shoulder. At some unspoken thought, his lips pressed together into a tight grimace and his brows lifted. After a moment, his lips parted and then clamped back together. When they opened once more, she could barely hear his response.

"Yes and no."

A minute passed and neither spoke. When their eyes met again, Edward swallowed thickly and palmed his chin, as if he were trying to determine how much to say.

Carefully, he continued, repeating some of what she already knew but then, divulging far more. "You see, when we… mate, it isn't like it is for humans. It isn't something that can change over time, wear away, or be shoved back into rarely accessed memory. When we find our other half, it's permanent; it becomes part of who we are. We change. And we never change back.

"I don't know exactly how to describe it – the connection, the change that takes place – so that you'll understand. But… it would be no different than if one of my limbs were to be removed and replaced. We're … altered in every way. The feelings and emotions you carry never wane and they never shift.

"When mates are physically separated, even across a short distance, there is an emptiness and ache that you feel in your entire being. And that ache never relents or fades as times goes on. It only grows stronger. Your mate _is_ your other half. So when one dies or whatever it is that we do, part of the other remaining dies along side."

The impact of his statement was undeniable and immediate. She felt the stinging in her eyes, the pooling tears threatening to spill over. Bella wanted her emotion to be for Esme, and some part of it was. But deep down, she was contemplating their own connection and what could have happened.

His velvet voice was rougher than she'd ever heard it as he went on. "Can she survive? Yes. We can. There are those of us who have and who have managed well.

"Will she? As in will she choose to? Yes, I think so. Carlisle would want that for her and she would do anything for him and his memory.

"Can she find happiness? Yes to that, as well. I think. We are a family. And she will never be alone. But it will never be the same and it will never be what it once could have been."

He sighed and rubbed his fingers along his temple. "I know I've told you this, Bella. But perhaps not in this context. With our expanded minds comes infallible memory. I remember every mark, every dip, every curve, every inch of your body. I remember everything you have ever said to me. Everything.

"But you see, along with our memories, we also possess the ability to think of many things at once.

"So, someday, down the road, when she might be happy and laughing and smiling, there will be some small part of her that will always be thinking of Carlisle. It's both a blessing and curse. He'll always be with her in her thoughts, always by her side, but the absence of him will never go unnoticed. Ever."

With his last words, Bella felt the throb in her chest turn to a piercing, burning wound. When Edward's eyes suddenly jerked back to hers, she knew that her heart had given away her reaction.

"If I had died?" she rasped shakily.

He was immediately in front of her on his knees and grabbing for her gloved hands. Edward's expression was one of intense pain, and his eyes seared into hers. In a choked moan, he answered, "Please, Bella. Please don't ask me to think of that. I've been trying so hard _not_ to think about that. I can't."

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, mutely, she nodded, understanding his words.

His thumb traced her hand, searching up and underneath the layers to find her bare skin. He looked down, refusing to meet her eyes. In a voice so low she almost mistook his words, he whispered, "I would have found a way to follow you."

Edward's words registered instantly. Wide eyed and horrified at his implication, she stammered, begging, "Edward, don't say that. You can't say that to me. I won't think about that.

"Look at me, Edward," she continued.

Hoarsely, he answered, "Bella, I won't live in a world without you. It's impossible. I know that now. For just a few moments, I felt that fear, that complete and utter misery. For a few minutes, I lived that hell of thinking you might be… I can't, Bella. It's not in me to be without you. I'm not as strong as Esme. I'm not."

She wanted to argue, throw things even. The thought of Edward not existing, regardless of her own life, was too much to bear. Yet she understood. She couldn't help but to understand. The idea of living without him was excruciating. _Would I choose anything different?_ she wondered. She doubted she would.

At that instant, she knew that it was time. While things were not right – God only knew when they would be – there was no point in delaying her change. There was no point in delaying their future. Her decision had already been made.

"Change me," she murmured, moving her hand to his cheek.

His hands stilled and he said nothing. The air between them felt hot and almost electrified. Bella watched as his jaw flexed, like his teeth were clamping down. But he only stared. After a long moment of silence, he moved his hand to her neck, pausing with his thumb under her chin. _Feeling my pulse_, she realized.

"Edward, I can't be without you, either. Before this, I made my decision. And it hasn't changed. Don't tell me that you don't understand. Change me. Today. Right now."

"You're certain?" he exhaled, finally answering her. His breathing was shaky, stuttering. She could feel his icy breath pulsing across the bare skin of her face.

Bella closed her eyes and smiled. "I've never been more certain of anything."

* * *

_**May 1, 2009  
10:13 am  
Somewhere along the northern shore of Great Bear Lake, Northwest Territories, Canada**_

He carried her into their cabin, a small two-bedroom A-frame buried in the tree line overlooking the lake. When they had arrived the previous Friday morning, it had surprised her to find a modern home so deep in the wilderness. More so, it had surprised her that they would not be living with his family – at least not for a while.

It had been Esme who had quietly suggested that they not. With a small, knowing smile, she had said that they would need privacy. At first, Edward had worried that her insistence was borne from his presence and constant reminder of Carlisle. Yet when he heard her thoughts, they conveyed nothing but understanding, concern, and love. Esme wanted Bella as a daughter as much as Edward wanted her as a mate and wife. Despite her grief and mourning, she wanted them to have time together away from everything. _You need it, Edward, perhaps more than any of us ever have_, she had said.

The few rooms were spacious and warm. Bright light filtered in through the tall, tinted windows, bathing the room in soft, muted yellow light. The russet-colored cedar logs gave the space a musky, earthy smell. Other smells mixed and mingled, but more than anything he could smell her perfume. Once inside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, wondering how it would change once she did. Like nothing else, he dreaded her final breath, and part of him wanted to delay it as long as possible. Yet simultaneously, he felt unparalleled joy.

"Are you going to miss that?" she asked, her lips grazing the skin of his throat. They were cooler than normal from exposure to the outside air, but still, they blazed against his flesh.

"What do you mean?" he asked, as he set her down and began slowly removing her layers.

"The smell of my blood, my heartbeat, my warmth?" There was a hint of a smile playing across her lips, a certain glint to her eyes. His lips involuntarily turned up at her levity; Bella was teasing him. Embedded in her tone, however, there was something slight, just a twinge of worry or unease. Whether it was due to what was to come, he wasn't sure.

He chuckled in response, but his voice sounded nervous even to his own ears. As he peeled off a final layer of outerwear, his fingers lingered and outlined her collarbone. _So soft, so warm_, his mind sighed.

_How can I do this? _Edward wanted to cry. Yet he knew his answer before he even thought it.

"Perhaps. But what I'm gaining far outweighs what I might lose," he said softly, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. It was such a dichotomy of emotion, that war between sorrow and elation. The feelings were so tightly bound together, it was impossible to experience one without the other. For their future, she had to perish. For a moment, he felt like he was suffocating, like a human man drowning.

But before his welling disquiet could overtake him, it was cut short by fiery lips climbing up his neck to reach his. Small hands darted underneath his shirt and ran along the planes of his chest and abdomen. They were so hot and demanding, and as they trailed across his skin, he shivered. Her want was written across her features as plainly as if it had been spoken.

He kissed her with abandon, pressing his tongue inside the warmth of her mouth, feeling and listening to her body's responses. She needed his touch. And he was in no different position, desperately needing more and feeling more than he had allowed before. Bits and pieces of his careful control were shed along with their garments. While their movements were unhurried, there was an urgency there, a necessity to be closer, a pull that refused to be ignored.

When he lifted her up and carried her to their bedroom, Bella smiled against his lips and her heartbeat thundered in his ears. For hours, his fingers and lips followed her curves, reverently touching and coaxing her silken skin. Every part of her was explored and revered. He kissed her instep, the soft, pale flesh of her inner thighs, the roundness of her hips. When his mouth found her breast, she quivered and gasped. When his fingers drifted down and slipped inside of her, she came undone and begged him not to stop.

The taste of her skin was so pure and strong, and the smell of her arousal was nearly maddening. It was so different than her blood but so tormenting, Edward fought his body's urge to bury himself inside of her and take her swiftly. This, he wanted to last; he wanted to relish the feel of her against him. He wanted to hear her gasps and quiet moans and to feel her body shudder and quake. He wanted her final human memory to be the love and ecstasy that only he could give her.

When he finally entered her, Bella's back arched and she cried out his name. Over and over, in instinctual rhythm, their bodies came together and parted. The feel of being inside of her like this was like nothing else. It was sublime in its heat and friction; he never wanted it to end.

With each thrust, he felt her body tighten, and her fingertips pressed into his back and tugged at his hair. As the heat built in his abdomen, their motions sped, driving them both to climax. When he felt her body clench and shake around him and when heard his name leave her lips in a wailing cry, his release immediately followed, obeying her unspoken command.

Afterward, they lay together in a tangle of limbs. Her eyes were half closed and her arms wrapped loosely around his waist. When she looked up at him, there was a moment of wordless communication. _Yes,_ she said. _Now._

Tenderly, he lifted her slender wrist and ran his nose up and down her skin, memorizing her perfume one last time.

"I love you, Bella. Please, tell me again that you are certain that this is what you want," he murmured, locking his amber eyes to hers.

She ran her fingers down his chest and reached up to kiss his lips once more. Quietly, she whispered, "I'm certain, Edward. I need you. I love you more than life. And I'm not afraid; I trust you. No more delays."

He swallowed and fought the sharp sting in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his lips against her skin, once, twice, and then, a final time. Never breaking eye contact, he opened his mouth and sank his teeth into her flesh.

* * *

_**May 3, 2009  
2:49 am  
Somewhere along the northern shore of Great Bear Lake, North West Territory, Canada**_

It had been less than two days since he had done what he had once considered the unthinkable. When his teeth had sliced through the thin membrane of her skin, for the briefest of moments, he felt the beast inside rear its head back and rejoice. The taste of her blood, hot and still pumping, was unimaginable in its perfection, far more alluring than the dated bag that James had used to tempt him. Some minute part of him, the predator, howled in delight and savored the thick, coursing wine flowing down his throat.

But just as soon as it appeared, the beast had vanished as memories and images of her suddenly flashed and danced before his eyes. While divine in taste, his body had immediately wanted to expel her from it. It was wrong and unnatural; he recoiled from taking any pleasure in her pain. As soon as enough of his venom had entered her bloodstream, he'd licked the wound to seal it.

Carefully, he cleaned her body, removing any signs of spilled blood, and he dressed her in something he knew would be comfortable, knowing that she would be disoriented and confused when she awoke. Anything he could do to ease her transition, he would do. Gently, he laid her underneath fresh white sheets.

And then, he waited.

Eyes always on her, he counted her heart's slowing beats. For hours, Edward held her hand and relived their moments together, replaying her smiles and touches. Silently, he prayed that she was being spared the pain he recalled too vividly. But he knew despite her unexpected stillness and silence, that was unlikely, so he kissed her lips, her forehead, and he palmed her cheeks hoping his cool touch could grant her some reprieve.

As he watched her features slowly shift and her skin harden, a range of emotions circled in his mind. There was still guilt, enormous guilt, that he had caused such pain and suffering in her life. He wasn't sure if that would ever completely go away, regardless of her forgiveness. _Regardless of all of their forgiveness._

There was still so much left unsaid and unresolved. Edward didn't know how long, how many years, if ever, they would resemble the family they once were. They had all suffered enormous loss, but deep down, Edward had faith that someday they would be close to whole again. Where that faith came from, he could only guess. But for the time being, his focus was purely on Bella.

Beyond the guilt, there was a twinge of fear that he had made a mistake somehow in changing her, that he'd not allowed enough venom, that he had somehow failed. Rationally, he knew that to be untrue. She was healthy and beautiful – almost luminescent in the dim lamplight – and he could already smell her vampire scent. He couldn't help but smile when he realized how closely it resembled her human essence. Already, the burn he constantly felt in his throat when she was near had waned to near nothing.

With each beat of her heart, he mourned for her death and for the loss of her humanity. His mind wanted to weep like a widowed man laying his wife to rest. But it was her choice. And she had chosen him forever. So he quelled the swelling despair, forcing himself to acknowledge that hers was not death but instead a passage to new life. _Life she chose_, he chanted.

He could not deny that intertwined in her death, his unbeating heart thudded in satisfaction and contentment. For decades, Edward had been so alone – more so than he had ever realized until she entered his world. It was as though the day had dawned, as though his mind and soul had been cracked open and laid bare. And she had been the one to piece him together and to mend him.

Edward longed to show her the world, to share the world with her. He wanted to wrap his body around hers and make love to her time and time again, to never let go. He wanted to be with her, to love her, to worship her.

And deeper still, there was some new emotion, one he wasn't sure he had ever felt in his existence as a vampire. He felt light, as though some heavy weight or pressure in his chest had lifted. With Bella, there was _hope_. Hope for what once was and for what would be.

When she awoke, their future would begin.

* * *

_**May 8, 2009  
11:16 pm  
Alleyway off of Sedgewick Street, Chicago, Illinois**_

High above, dark clouds drifted, hiding the light from the moon and leaving the sky almost pitch black. The ever-shining lights of street lamps and city buildings and skyscrapers cast an eerie white glow all around. Deep inside the alleyways, however, little light permeated, leaving concealed black pockets where men gathered.

From the roof of an old and crumbling tenant building, she watched as three men exchanged their drugs and money. Earlier, when she had heard the warnings of this place, she had laughed. _As if any mortal man could pose a threat to me,_ she scoffed.

Here, in this particular section of the city, where so few would dare enter, she could gorge herself and no one would ever be the wiser. Their bodies would mean nothing, would go unnoticed. Not that she had concerned herself with discretion before, but she wanted to play, to inflict pain. She wanted to crush skulls and suck men dry, and she wanted no interruptions. For her bloodlust was strong, driven by the need of her still-healing body and the immeasurable rage that bubbled inside her veins.

For the past weeks, all Victoria could think about was how her mate had been stripped away from her. There was an emptiness inside that she filled with hatred and spite and malice. She was consumed by it. She had fed almost every night since she had escaped that tiny vampire in the field and ran east, but she could not be sated. Her eyes were coal-black with need.

By human standards, the men were rough, fighters. Tucked inside of waistbands, there were glints of black steel, and their dark pigmented skin was decorated with black ink in pictures and meaningless drivel. The men were arguing, and Victoria watched, amused, as their words became shouts. The largest one, a tall, muscular man with a shaved head, stood menacingly over a shorter, plumper man with tight black curls.

With their curses, human odors floated upward: stale alcohol, something pungent and herbal, like burned sage, and sticky, salty sweat. But overpowering the lesser smells was the scent of fresh, pulsing blood. The large man in particular was delectable; his blood was tangy and piquant, and her mouth filled with venom, coating her teeth and tongue.

A smirk spread across her lips when she decided her course of action. Then soundlessly, Victoria vaulted off the roof and landed on the asphalt behind them. The soft rubber soles of her boots absorbed the impact of her fall; the only sound around them was the rising volume of their voices and the distant sound of sirens.

Delicately, she cleared her voice, startling all three. When they whipped around, each wearing expressions of both fury and incredulity, Victoria purred, "I seem to have lost my way. I don't suppose any of you gentlemen would like to assist me?"

She watched as their features transformed from surprised outrage to sudden, unveiled lust. Their eyes raked down her form in salacious delight and she could already see the evidence of their arousal. She knew precisely where their minds were; their gaze unapologetically lingered over the tightly covered curves of her thighs and breasts. Their preconceived notions were pathetic and infuriating. But it made them such disgustingly easy targets. _Humans are so predictable_, she spat silently as she swayed toward them.

"Hey, baby," the largest one called, taking in her out of place appearance and pale complexion. "I think you're in the wrong part of town. Unless you're looking for something you can't find over on your side."

The other two men catcalled and leered, each momentarily forgetting their argument and drugs. But she paid them no mind, knowing she would take care of them in short order. Licking her lips, she sidled up to the man who had spoken and ran her fingers down his chest muscles to the seam of his low-slung jeans.

"Maybe I am," she whispered, leaning up and whispering in his ear. She felt him shiver as her icy tongue traced the shell of his ear. Tingling venom pooled in her mouth as she heard his heartbeat race in anticipation. "Do you think you could entertain me? Let's say I'm up for some… _sport_ tonight."

His large palm reached out and grabbed her hipbone, roughly jerking and pulling her against him. "I think I can take you."

The two other men shouted obscenities and urged him to let them have a turn.

"Oh, really?" she laughed. Over her shoulder, with a wink, she called out, "You'll get your turn, don't worry about that."

And then, without warning, she broke contact and launched herself at the shorter man behind her. None had been prepared for her abrupt movement, and her vampire speed rendered them helpless and dumb. Before he could even turn to run, she latched onto the shorter man's shoulders and pulled him toward her.

"How about now?" she growled before sinking her teeth into the meaty flesh of his throat.

His skin offered no resistance as her teeth pierced, cutting through tissue and sinew and then, finally, arteries and veins. His blood pumped down her throat, thick and hot and alive. Against her hard, unyielding flesh, his flailing arms felt like feather taps. Without pausing, she sucked, drawing the blood into her mouth.

Only vaguely did she note the man's strangled cries, for they were buried beneath the screams of the other two men. Still locked to his throat, she grabbed a second man as he tried to dart past and snapped his neck, effectively halting both his shrieks and escape.

When her first victim was drained, she released his still body and threw it to the side and out of the way. She glanced up to find the larger man backed against a far wall in the alley, terrified of what he'd seen and heard.

"Come now, I thought you said you could take me?" she sneered, stalking toward him.

His body shook with fear and she noted the smell of urine.

_That's it, fear me, human_, she thought.

With a flash of bloodstained teeth, she whispered, "I'll tell you what… let's play a game."

His eyes widened and he stammered, "Please, just let me go. I swear I won't tell anyone. God, ple-,"

Her palm clamped down onto his mouth, interrupting his pleading. "Tell me your name," Victoria ordered, running the nails of her free hand across the cotton of his shirt. Where they passed, clean slices through fabric appeared.

"Name!" she yelled when he didn't respond.

"Sh-Shaun," he mouthed as tears rolled down his face.

The man's fear was almost incapacitating. His eyes rolled back as if he were passing out. Violently, she grabbed him and shook him, bringing his mind back to cognizance. As his head lolled back and forth, she could hear the clacking of his teeth snapping together.

"Very good, Shaun. We're going to play a game, okay?" she said almost cheerfully.

Repeating words she had heard countless times over the decades, Victoria continued. "The rules are very simple, Shaun. You are going to run and I am going to chase you. If you do not comply or if you scream, I will end the game and kill you. You will suffer an excruciating death. I will kill you slowly, mercilessly. And I can. Unlike most, I possess that kind of control.

"But if you run and keep quiet like a good boy, I will kill you quickly and painlessly when I find you. Do you understand?"

All she heard was a garbled, incoherent moan.

"Did you hear me or not, Shaun?" she snarled, shaking him again.

"Ye-yes. Please, God, please!" he sobbed.

"Excellent. I think you might have a chance. If you are fast. Are you fast, Shaun?" she taunted, latching her cold fingers to his chin and pulling his face down to meet her stare.

When his brown eyes met her black eyes, he flinched and moaned again. Purring, she ran her nose along his stubbled jaw, inhaling the tantalizing scent of his blood spiked with adrenaline.

"Mmm-mmm," she hummed. "Lovely. I'm going to enjoy this."

"Now, go!" she laughed, releasing him and shoving him toward the mouth of the alleyway.

For a moment, he stood frozen like an animal caught in a snare. His head whipped back and forth, his eyes wide and petrified. When he glanced back at her, she licked her lips and raised her eyebrows in question. The next second, he was gone, racing out of the alleyway and into the glowing streets.

She chuckled as she waited, purposefully giving him a head start. The man's scent was so powerful and alluring, she could locate him anywhere, anytime. Maybe she would even allow him to leave the city. Maybe she would stalk him for days, watch him run as far from her as possible, living off his fear.

Prompted by their age-old game, images of James assaulted her mind and washed across her sight. She could hear his voice whispering in her ear, could feel his skin upon hers. He was gone and her chest heaved painfully. Shaken by the sudden onslaught, her breath caught and choked in her throat.

"Cullen!" Victoria roared into the night, slamming her fist into the nearby brick wall. "If you think James had patience, if you think he was calculating and vicious… you have seen nothing. Nothing! Do you hear me? I will kill you all. If I have to raise an army, you will all suffer for this! I will take you down when you least expect it. Your lives are mine."

Blood tinged venom spilled from her lips, running down her chin and spotting the ivory of her shirt. And her vision turned vibrant red, as red as the very blood she'd just consumed. Pure, uncontrolled rage shot through her body, rushing and filling her limbs, leaving her quivering and convulsing.

She would have her revenge. Today, tomorrow, or after a century, it made no difference.

_Time, _she thought.

That was the one thing she had left… she had all the time in the world.

* * *

_**~Fine~**_

* * *

**Thanks for reading!  
**


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